Kadan
by Epiphany sola Gratia
Summary: Duty and love come into conflict when Alistair breaks the heart of Elissa Cousland and Sten struggles within himself regarding his feelings for the Warden. The final battle looms and their decisions will shape the future of Ferelden.
1. Kadan

_Disclaimer: Dragon Age:Origins, its characters and the world of Thedas belong to Bioware. I have been inspired to see the game from a different perspective and have written from an alternate reality plotline of the events leading into the final battle in Denerim and what happens thereafter. Thank you, Bioware, for creating such a wonderful game that inspires me to keep writing._

_**Kadan**_

I sat next to the campfire and watched the flames dance in crackling flickers but its warmth only touched my face. Inwardly I was chilled and the fire would be unable to melt the iciness within. Glancing around the camp, was lonely. Most had turned in for the night to rest after a grueling day of marching in order to reach Redcliffe.

Alistair had retired to his own tent without a word. He had not been able to look me in the eye for the last two days since he ended our relationship out of principle. In order to be a good king, he had to provide the realm with an heir before he died in order to prevent further civil war and bloodshed. As a Grey Warden I would be unable to serve "king and country" in such a capacity because the taint within my body limited the chances of carrying a healthy child to term. Love was not enough and I could not force him to remain with me.

Zevran had maintained a respectful distance and avoided making lecherous comments. His behavior bordered on being brotherly, placing his hand on my shoulder whenever he noticed my downcast expression and giving it a gentle squeeze.

He had made it clear that he lusted after me, but he refused to chase me when my choice of Alistair was clear. He made harmless, teasing comments when Alistair was in ear shot to irritate him, but he never actively tried to tempt me to be unfaithful to the man I loved. For that I respected him. I could trust him with my life, but also my reputation. He would never compromise anything I did not wish compromised. Now I was free, but in pain and he remained considerate of the wounds.

That evening, he made a nebulous invitation, saying, "If ever you are ready, you are always welcome to join me. I cannot mend a broken heart, but perhaps I can soothe it slightly?" I smiled up at him, but sadly shook my head. I was not ready yet.

"No matter," he chuckled, "I am patient. For you, I can wait."

He headed to his tent alone. Lelianna and Wynne sat with me for a while, offering a smile, a song and their support. They talked of our previous struggles and how we had managed to overcome them. This too would pass. I basked in their presence, but soon they too went to their tents to sleep before morning.

Morrigan stood up and looked down at me, not unkindly, and said bluntly, "You know my mind on the matter. You are far superior to the would-be king. Love is a useless emotion and if one so worthless so readily abandons it then it was not of any value to begin with. I feel for your pain, my friend. Perhaps Flemeth's Grimoire has a potion or something to ease it?"

"I appreciate the thought, Morrigan." I admitted, to which she shrugged and went to her tent at the edge of the clearing.

Now it was Sten and I sitting across a dying fire, waiting for the dawn with my dog snoring noisily at my feet. He sat there, like an obelisk or an unyielding iron rod, staring at me, studying my face and I returned his searching gaze. How he must despise my weakness and my melancholy over losing Alistair, he who never betrayed his emotions.

"Kadan?"

His spoken word startled me. I had grown accustomed to silence with him unless I purposely chose to break it to ask Sten a question. Often he would entertain such interchanges like a man entertaining a mosquito buzzing at his ear. The silences between us had become comfortable and I no longer felt the need to fill them. It was shocking that after all this time, he was shattering the silence.

"Sten?"

"Losing the other Grey Warden's regard for you is similar to how it felt when I lost Asala." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He was not asking if I thought it was similar, he observed that it was.

"You had once said that Asala was a part of you?"

"Yes."

"Then I have to agree with your observation." I acquiesced.

"But it is also different." He concluded.

Internally part of me warned myself not to ask, but I could not resist, "How so?"

"When I lost Asala, you were able to retrace my steps, discovered who had absconded with it and retrieved it at no minor expense of time and money." He explained with a meticulous tone, "In this case, I am unable to retrieve what you have lost on your behalf."

I shrugged, "It was nice of you to consider it."

There was a pause before he offered in his usual deadpan tone, "Would it help if I beat him?"

I could not help it, I had to smile, "No, thank you."

"Could you find another? Not like him, but equally valued?"

My eyebrow cocked with that question. I was not distressed by it as much as I was intrigued, "Mayhap. I cannot say."

He continued to look at me with his almost inscrutable look that he always wore. As enigmatic as he always was, I was starting to be able to read his moods based on subtle tensions in his jaw and the softness of his eyes. Now I could tell he was carefully considering what I had said and seemed to be debating it within him.

Suddenly, without warning, he got up, walked around the campfire and got down on one knee before me, lowering himself to my eye level. With a husky edge to his usually dispassionate voice, he declared, "I am not like the elf. I will not offer you empty promises only to change them as soon as the wind turns. What I feel is foreign to me. At first I thought it was akin to the respect that I would offer a brother-at-arms, but it has been so far eclipsed by this inner warmth that I can no longer use the paltry term of `respect' to encompass it. I call you `Kadan,' because I value you in a way I have not valued any other. I am a stone, immutable, unchanging, yet you have wrought a change in me and I cannot return to what I was. The other Grey Warden cast aside what I treasure above all else, what I desire above all else. For that I despise him for the fool that he is."

Somewhere in the midst of his speech, my mouth became limp. This was the most words he had ever spoken at one time, but his words were making my heart beat faster. I had never considered Sten could feel so deeply about anything other than his honor. I had never experienced Sten like this and it was simultaneously thrilling and confusing.

"There is one point which I concur with the elf on," he finished, "for you I would wait. _Nothing_ is more patient than stone." With that he carefully placed one large, battle calloused hand on my cheek and gently drew my face towards him to brush his lips against mine. It was the tenderest kiss I had ever experienced with any man and my breath caught in my throat. He withdrew from me then and returned to his feet. Looking down at me with soft eyes, he instructed, "Go to bed, Kadan. I will keep watch this night. Tomorrow the sun will rise and we will continue."

In a daze, unable to argue, I got up and went to my tent, feeling infinitely warmer than I had in a while.

_Author's Note:_

_This story is a result of a two-fold Cheeky Monkey Challenge. This is in answer to the Valentine's Day Challenge and the Sneaky Cheeky Monkey Challenge from the Cheeky Monkeys of Dragon Age forum. The address is w w w. d a r k s t o r m. c o. u k/ c m d a / (just take out the spaces) and it is a blast._

_I've always had a soft spot for Sten, so I figured that if Alistair dropped the ball, perhaps Sten would be interested in picking up the pieces. It started out as a one-shot and blossomed into a life of its own. I don't know how long this will take. I'm looking forward to the trip._


	2. Eavesdropping

_**Eavesdropping**_

It was the eve before battle and our party was lodging at Redcliffe Castle. We had been informed by the Senior Grey Warden, Riordan, that the bulk of the darkspawn horde and the Archdemon were en route to Denerim. The city was doomed and we could do nothing. In the morning we would have to gather our forces and march on Denerim to take back the city. Our weapons were ready and our allies, the Dalish elves and the Dwarves, as well as the Redcliffe Knights were preparing for the realities of battle. Having been given leave to do so, I wandered the halls of the castle, meditating on the scattering of paintings that decorated the walls.

We Qunari did not have such things, being people of action. It astounded me the delicate beauty captured and saved for posterity. I had gathered a collection of four small works that I would occasionally look at and use for meditation purposes. Thinking on the representations assisted in coming to a clearer sense of self-discovery. The Qun encourages us to know ourselves in order to better serve our whole.

My soul has been in turmoil. I had been chosen by the _Arishok_ because of my steadfastness. I was a stone. I was sent for as a stone I could not be corrupted or turned by the ploys of a human Chantry. The Qun was my truth, I knew my path and understood my place in the whole. I knew who I was. Now I was unsure.

Kadan and I had not spoken again of my revelation the other night, though I had noticed that it had a distinct effect on her behavior. She seemed more determined and less distressed. The others had noticed and whispered amongst themselves, but had been confused. I had helped to bestow peace upon her while throwing myself into unrest.

I had taken note of where Kadan's room was located and made it a point to walk in that direction. If we had to wait, perhaps we could wait in one another's company. It was with this purpose in mind that I stole toward her room. From the end of the hallway I caught sight of her, her eyes were downcast and her shoulders hunched as she entered her room. Something had caused unrest in her, but it did not resemble her stance of despair that she had once exhibited over the other Grey Warden. No, this was different and I walked a little more briskly in order to converse with her privately.

As I neared it became apparent that she was not alone, someone else waited within her quarters. Concerned that the Elf was disturbing her time of reflection before battle, I reached for the door latch but paused when I realized that the voice conversing with her belonged to another.

I could distinctly hear the Mage's voice state, "I am well, tis you who are in danger."

Danger? Placing my hand on the hilt of my sword, I waited. If that _Saarebas _threatened my Kadan I would cut out her tongue myself. Why did Fereldens waste time with Templars when they should simply leash mages for the good of all?

"I have a plan, you see. A way out. The loop in your hole."

This statement confused me. The Mage was offering some kind of sanctuary? I was unfamiliar with the phrase, _"The loop in your hole."_ The Bard would have probably referred to this as a _"turn of phrase."_ She was quite fond of them, those flowery words that cunningly hide what is true. Humans had such bizarre quirks in language. They should learn to speak more straight-forward.

"I know what happens when an Archdemon dies. I know a Grey Warden must be sacrificed, and that sacrifice could be you. I have come to tell you that this does not need to be." The Mage spoke this and my blood ran cold.

Kadan did not deny this information or argue with the Mage, she allowed the Mage to speak her peace. What followed was an outlining of the Mage's plan to save Kadan and the other Templar through a ritual. This ritual would result in the Mage becoming pregnant with the other Grey Warden's child and somehow the child would be imbued with the soul of the Archdemon, which she referred to as an _"old god."_

This information did not sit well with Kadan. She began to argue that it was not necessary, that the Senior Grey Warden had decreed he would be the one to strike the killing blow, therefore he would be the one to die. But the Mage continued, "Consider the possibility that Riordan may not be there to make the final blow as he plans, what then? Do you run away?" This was sound reasoning, and I found myself inwardly concurring with the logic of the argument.

The next argument voiced by the Mage caused me further pause, "Do you let Alistair, future King of Ferelden, take the blow instead? What if he does not make it to the Archdemon either?" This I knew that Kadan would never allow. As the future King, the other Grey Warden was considered to be of vital importance. Aside from her feelings, Kadan would prevent his death in order to protect her country, much like a Qunari _Karashok_ would willingly lay down his life for the _Arishok_ to prevent the Qunari people from being weakened as a whole.

"Then you are a fool." The Mage spat this at Kadan before continuing to rant, "I will not stand by and watch you waste this opportunity. Die, if you think it is worthwhile. Or be overshadowed. I care not."

Kadan tried to argue with the Mage, asking her to stay and explaining that she would be useful in the upcoming battle.

The Mage would have none of it, "Would that I could have helped you. That is your doing, however, and not mine." I heard the Mage begin to move toward the door and I slipped down the hall, waiting in an alcove in the shadows for her to emerge. As the door opened I heard, "Fare you well, my friend. I do what I must, now, and so shall you."

Upon exiting, without a look behind, the Mage changed her shape into a grey wolf cub and began to bound down the hall. She was quick and almost noiseless, but I had been trained for the _Beresaad_ and used to striking fast. My hand shot out of the shadows and grabbed the cub by the scruff of its neck, lifting it off the floor and dragging it into an empty bed chamber before the Mage returned to her original shape.

"How dare you manhandle _me_!" She raged, calling fire to her hands.

Deciding it was counterproductive to engage in battle with her in close quarters, I raised my hands as a sign of peace. Maintaining my calm, I spoke deliberately, "I listened to your exchange with Kadan. I know of your proposal. What do you need to complete your ritual?"

"You are offering to assist me?" The Mage's right eyebrow arched incredulously.

"Kadan assumes great responsibility," I explained, "and that is commendable. However, she would sacrifice herself needlessly. A King is important, but she has worth as well, though she does not realize this. I refuse to accept that it is her fate to die in this coming battle."

With these words the Mage relaxed and dispelled her power. She explained, "I would require Alistair's willing participation. However, without her coercion I do not believe that he will agree to it. He likes me not and I have nothing that he desires."

"I will convince him." I reassured her before opening the door, "Come."

Knocking on the Grey Warden's door, I could feel my jaw tense. I reassured myself that this was a logical course of action, that Kadan was allowing her emotions to cloud her judgment and it was my duty to protect her from so faulty a course of action. This was not a betrayal.

The Grey Warden looked surprised and then suspicious as I ushered the Mage into his room and closed the door behind us.

"Sten," he nodded before stiffly turning to the Mage and acknowledging her with an acidic tone, "_Morrigan."_

Bringing his attention back to me, I announced, "We know of what you will face tomorrow. We know that a Grey Warden striking the killing blow to the Archdemon will die. However, there may be an alternative."

With that I looked at Morrigan and allowed her to outline the ritual and what would be required to complete it. The Grey Warden's complexion transitioned between three shades of red before going pale. He began to shake his head, as if he did not want to hear what was being said, repeating, "_NO!"_ over and over again. He finally placed his hands over his ears, much like a child.

"Leave us," I commanded Morrigan. She looked as if she would argue, but then seemed to reconsider it and stepped outside the door.

As soon as the door closed behind her, the Grey Warden began to shout at me, "How could you listen to her? What if she's lying? What if this is some ploy to bear a royal bastard and have a bargaining chip here?"

Remaining impassive I asserted, "True, she has an agenda, but it has nothing to do with politics here in Ferelden."

"Why are you involving yourself in this?" he demanded.

There was no room for hesitation. Deep down I knew full well that I was not a neutral party. I had my own interests. I could not conceive of continuing to live if she died. To continue living would be a different kind of death. I could not admit that to him. He had chosen such a life for himself and that was his own right. However, like me, he felt deeply for Kadan and that was the only leverage I had, "You once professed to her that you loved her. I know not of what such professions entail for humans. Qunari do not make such statements to one another. However, based on my observations, to allow one that you have professed to love to die when it is within your power to spare them seems a gross betrayal of such a profession. You are to be King of Ferelden, and as such, in the interests of peace, you cannot throw your life away killing the Archdemon unless there are no other options available or you will leave your country in a dire state. She knows this and it means that she will choose to strike the killing blow in order to both save you and her country. Can you continue to live with yourself if you knowingly refuse to do what is necessary to save her life when she will so readily sacrifice her own life to save yours?"

The Grey Warden's mouth opened and closed a number of times, much like a fish, but no sound came out. My words had found their mark. He looked stunned and then the truth of what I spoke began to process in his mind. As if shamed, he closed his eyes, swallowed and finally nodded his head. I returned to the door and gruffly commanded the Mage, "Enter."

"T`would seem your talk is done," she observed lightly to me as she came back in, giving Alistair a brief glance before focusing all her attention on me.

I stared her down and stated, "You will keep your word on this, Mage. Once this battle is over you are to leave. You are to never set foot in Ferelden again, or I swear that you will have to deal with me."

"There are things far more frightening than you, Sten of the Qunari," she observed witheringly, as if I had insulted her, "I am being pursued by something that far outstrips you in strength and cunning."

"Be that as it may, it does not change my stand." I stated before turning to leave.

As I closed the door behind me I heard the Grey Warden almost wretch, "Let's get this over with."

To this the Mage purred, "Believe me, Alistair, you will not hate this as much as you believe."

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_This started out as a one shot and then it evolved. I had so many people who seemed to appreciate it and I came up with a way to extend it that I felt was a different way to deal with it. _

_Most of Morrigan's dialogue here came from the game, with the exception of her private conversation with Sten, and I adapted it. The Qunari words in italics I looked up on the Dragon Age wiki to give everything the right feel._

_There may be one or two more chapters. I'm not sure. This has taken on a life of its own._


	3. Armor

**Armor**

Morrigan had left and all I could feel was anxious and bereft. She had been so angry that I had not agreed to her proposal and even I could not entirely understand why I had refused.

Over the last couple of days I had evaluated my feelings for Alistair and I understood that he had to make the decision to end our relationship. As the future King of Ferelden he had to produce an heir. I understood that because of the taint it could not be me. It was hard, but I could put aside my feelings. We did what honor required of us.

Perhaps that is why I felt a connection with Sten. He was a man who subsisted on honor and it drove him, it informed _every_ decision that he made. Alistair was in a similar position. He had a responsibility and to not fulfill it would be a lapse in his honor. I was surrounded by honorable men, if nothing else I felt the need to live up to their example and not shirk what was expected of me, even in the face of death.

To have accepted Morrigan's proposal would have felt like I was taking the easy way out. After pacing, trying to deconstruct my decision so that I could make my peace with it and prepare myself for the inevitable, I began to wrestle with the leather straps and buckles of my armor, growling at how difficult it was to take it off tonight. Many times Leliana or Morrigan had helped with some of the more difficult straps and Alistair, when he had shared my tent, had eagerly assisted me. Some of the straps were awkward to reach and tonight my fingers felt extremely clumsy.

When I felt a hand grasp my own where my fingers wrestled with the leather I jumped and spun, looking right into Sten's eyes. He had come in and I had been so distracted by my own turmoil that I had been unaware of him. Inwardly I was cursing myself for being so distracted and distraught, but I schooled my face to avoid showing it. For a moment there was only silence as we stared openly at each other.

"May I assist you, Kadan?" he finally asked.

I blinked and paused a moment before answering a little uncertainly, "…Yes."

It is startling when one experiences the contrast of how large Sten is and how delicately he performs small tasks. One would anticipate that he would accidently tear the leather, but he manipulated the straps with ease and in moments the breastplate and gauntlets were off and I was left in the under padding. He carefully deposited the discarded armor in a corner by the fireplace and I collapsed on the edge of the bed.

"It would be wise to polish your armor," Sten observed as he arranged it carefully so that it would not fall over and clatter, "You will be at the head of the army. It will draw attention from your troops and encourage them on the field if they can clearly see you."

"Yes," I agreed, reaching around to my shoulder and trying to ease the kinks that my tension had caused. I closed my eyes, willing my mind to be quiet and prepare myself for sleep.

When I opened them, Sten was crouching before me, reaching to remove the greaves. I placed my hands on his shoulders, causing him to stop and look into my eyes again, confused, "Kadan?"

"You do not need to wait on me, friend." I admonished him. It seemed strange for this man whom I had fought and bled with to be so passive in this service to me. There seemed a strange disconnect between the proud soldier I knew him to be and the gentle ministrations he was performing.

His brow furrowed. He stood on his feet again and paced a moment, seeming to consider something carefully before proceeding to speak, "On the eve of battle, qunari assist each other with preparations. It is how we…" there was a moment where he seemed to be grasping for a word, "…express our regard for one another."

This explanation revealed a great deal. I recalled when I had once asked him to tell me about his people and he had blatantly refused, stating something in essence that one could not condense all there was to know about a culture in short, surface explanations. Occasionally I could pry short, terse revelations from him at isolated moments but it was with obvious unwillingness. This open sharing illustrated how far his trust in me had developed in the intervening weeks.

"In the time I have been in your presence and observed you, it has occurred to me that humans touch a great deal," he openly exhibited his puzzlement over this, "and qunari do not touch except on rare occasions. Touch is…reserved. It is not wasted in randomness."

I leaned forward, my elbows resting on my knees, trying to gage how to appropriately broach the multitude of questions that came to my mind, "When do you…touch? What is appropriate?"

His eyebrows arched a little before meticulously citing occasions, "We touch when we formalize our oaths with one another, gripping hands. We touch when we honor our dead, saying our farewells. We touch…" With this, he stopped short, clearing his throat, "We touch when we assist one another with our armor." He gestured to the armor by the fireplace.

"What about…" I began to ask about physical relationships with women, but I was not sure that would be appropriate. He seemed to be trying desperately to help me to understand and I did not want him to shut me out. The rest of the question was lost to silence.

He studied my face and, as if reading my mind, he went forward, "_That_ is very different. We are matched with a suitable partner for copulation. There is no…attachment involved. It is mating and we perform it as a responsibility to our people."

I felt the heat in my face. I had asked a question I had no business to ask.

"Humans express regard through…physical intimacy." He observed this with no distinct emotional tone, but his eyes expressed something that I could not read.

"Not always," I qualified. Perhaps qunari were not so different from us. Alistair had saved himself until he had become involved with me, and even then we waited before sleeping together. Now he would have to marry and sleep with a woman in order to produce an heir. There really was no difference in such cases. It was copulation out of responsibility.

Sten approached, deliberately closing the distance between us. I had to raise my head slightly to keep sight of his face as he towered above me. Hesitantly he reached his hand forward and carefully ran his index finger along my jaw line. I closed my eyes, focusing entirely on the light sensation of his fingertips against my skin. When my eyes were open he was crouched before me again, gazing directly into my eyes.

"Kadan, we are different," he conceded, "but some part of me longs for you. I wish to express it and my words fail me."

I nodded, knowing that I was in the same predicament. There was something deeply attaching me to him. I feared overstepping the boundaries and inadvertently offending him with my ignorance of his culture. Physical intimacy did not mean the same to him as it did to me and I wracked my brain to try and find the right words, mentally formulate the correct form of action. It was then that I realized that he was still in his armor. I whispered, almost hoarsely, "May I assist you, Sten?" My fingers tentatively plucked at a buckle holding on his breast plate.

His mouth twitched slightly, but he turned himself onto one knee so I could better reach the buckles and straps from where I sat. It felt clumsy, but I managed to remove the breast plate and gauntlets without instance. Mimicking what he had done earlier, I carried the heavy armor and arranged it near mine by the fireplace. Straightening up and turning around, I was once again face to face with him. He stood so close without touching that it was a little unnerving.

"You should sit down again, Kadan," he stated simply, "so I might help you with your greaves."

I nodded woodenly, my mouth dry. It was a bizarre dance between him and me. Carefully navigating around him to return to my perch on the end of the bed, I sat down tentatively and he squatted next to me. He firmly gripped my upper thigh with his right hand as he eased off my right greave with his other hand. His fingers gave an almost imperceptible but reassuring squeeze against my flesh before repeating this with my left greave.

With the greaves removed, I stood and signaled for Sten to switch places with me, opting to say nothing, afraid of breaking the…ritual? It seemed odd, but that is what it appeared to be. It required more might for me to remove his heavy greaves; I was not nearly as graceful as he. The first one came off without incident, but I lost my balance and fell back into a pathetic pile on the floor with the other one.

He leaned forward and took the greave from me, placing it conscientiously on the floor with its mate but did not relinquish his grip on my hand, running his thumb slowly over the knuckles. Gently he eased me up from the floor so that I stood before him, drawing me forward so that I stood between his knees and he gazed up into my face. It was unnerving the way he looked at me, as if looking through me.

After another contemplative moment he stood up, my nose almost brushing his chest and I could no longer see his eyes. He reached a hand around me, cupping the nape of my neck, tilting my head forward so that my forehead rested against him. With that he very delicately began unpinning the plates at the back of my head, causing my hair to tumble down around my shoulders, his fingers gently running through the strands, easing out the tangles with care so as not to hurt me.

When it appeared he had finished I lifted up my head again, looking at him. We no longer touched, but we were so close that our breath mingled. Without warning he lowered his lips to mine, kissing me deeply, his hands gliding over my throat, his fingers stroking my hair and his thumbs resting against my temples.

I was lost in that kiss, giving myself to it completely. It tingled like lightning down my spine, in my hips and lower. It was akin to drowning and I broke the kiss trying to catch my breath, gasping, half conscious of the words that tumbled from my lips, "You do not have to, Sten. I understand."

"Yes," he breathed against my mouth before taking possession of it again.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_I'm sorry, I had to change the rating. With the way things are progressing I felt I needed to._


	4. Touch

**Touch**

I had not intended this.

My intent had been to enter Kadan's room and inform her of what had happened with the Mage. On opening the door I saw her back to me, her hands fumbling with the straps of her armor. She growled as she twisted awkwardly to reach the buckle at her shoulder.

Among my people we were accustomed to helping one another with such things, particularly on the eve of battle when the mind was disquieted with thoughts of the following day. A chore that was difficult when one's mind was sharp was a hundred times more so on such a night. She was so distracted that she did not hear me enter, so I came forward to help with her muddling.

I grasped her hand where it groped at her shoulder only to cause her to start and spin in a hasty arch. When she realized it was me, she relaxed instantly and her eyes betrayed her embarrassment, but she hid it well. If I had not spent the past months studying her and her many expressions, I might have missed it.

There was heavy silence and I feared perhaps I had angered her by my intrusion, so I offered, "May I assist you, Kadan?"

After a moment of consideration she agreed hesitantly, "…Yes."

I knew she did not understand the gravity of such an offer, so I put it from my mind and focused on the task at hand, unbuckling the straps and removing the upper portion of her armor with ease. Carrying the breast plate to the fireside and examining it in the light, it occurred to me that it had become tarnished from wear and use.

Portions were pocked with small dents and it reminded me that she had been forced onto a small rise in the Frostback Mountains by a reaver and he caused to fall on her side among a slide of small rocks. She recovered and continued fighting, even though her wrist had been injured, making each thrust of her short sword excruciating. The rest of us had been unaware until the return to camp when the Elder Mage had offered to examine her injuries. The woman had, at closer inspection, begun to gently berate Kadan for continuing on in pain rather than to ask for assistance.

On hearing this, my heart twinged with pride and concern. She had behaved as stoically as any qunari maiden, putting the mission before her own discomfort. At the same time, it troubled me that I had not noticed and I vowed that I would be more aware of her well-being.

"It would be wise to polish your armor," I stated it to cover over my musing, feeling awkward suddenly. "You will be at the head of the army. It will draw attention from your troops and encourage them on the field if they can clearly see you."

It was tradition to consider the sacrifices and strength of one you admired while assisting with their armor. I was appreciative of her strength, often putting her comrades-at-arms first. Even when she was trapped in the Fade by a sloth demon, she searched me out and came to my aid while I was content remaining complacent in my grief with shadows of my brothers for company. She would not allow me to wither away, but challenged me to honor their memories by completing my mission, encouraging me to fight as a true Sten of the Beresaad would.

This thought was forefront when I glanced back at her, absently rubbing her shoulders, obviously bothered with stiffness. I crept forward and moved to remove the greaves, wishing to allow her to calm herself. She often seemed to meditate like I did, struggling to push thoughts of anxiousness from her mind so that she could focus on her task.

Her eyes fluttered open as I leaned forward unclasp the buckle and suddenly grabbed my shoulders. The response was so sudden that I felt uncertain, perhaps I had offended. Was she rejecting my aid? I feared she would drive me from the room, "Kadan?"

However her voice was apprehensive as she insisted, "You do not need to wait on me, friend." Even with the obvious apprehension, a sense of warmth edged them as well. Her concern was for me, thinking that perhaps I was debasing myself through this act and not wishing me to feel lessened or lowered.

Struggling to put into words the significance of my actions, I paced a moment. How could she make me feel so unsure and undone? It was unintentional on her part because I had remained guarded. Every time she had tried to understand me, tried to reach out through her questions, I had often balked at answering. Over time, speaking with her had become easier, but I had been taught that humans would never accept a qunari's traditions or culture. The only way one could make a human listen was through a sword and conquest. Her open inquisitiveness was unexpected.

"On the eve of battle, qunari assist each other with preparations. It is how we…" once again my tenuous handle on the Ferelden language failed me. There were no words that accurately conveyed my depth of emotion and I settled for what first came to mind, "…express our regard for one another." Inwardly I groaned, knowing it did not capture my intended meaning. I rushed on with my own thoughts, hoping to not sound as awkward as I felt, "In the time I have been in your presence and observed you, it has occurred to me that humans touch a great deal and qunari do not touch except on rare occasions. Touch is…reserved. It is not wasted in randomness."

She leaned forward, visibly encouraged by what I had shared. "When do you…touch? What is appropriate?" She was so genuine.

I allowed myself to loosen, beginning with my tongue, listing the distinct types of touch that we valued, that expressed things too personal to be captured in words. She nodded appreciatively, a slight smile ghosting on her lips. It caused my words to feel more sluggish, redundant.

"What about…" she began to say, but trailed off, mirroring some of the awkwardness that I felt. Somehow I knew what she had intended. It was not an unusual question.

The Elf Assassin and the Dwarf Berserker had questioned me previously about intimacy, more pointedly about how recently I had partaken in such activities. They had been curious about how well I had my "needs met" since arriving in Ferelden. My explanation that qunari did not perceive he act of copulation as a "need" aside from producing offspring was entirely unsatisfying to them, which they did not bother to hide.

Trying to answer her curiosity with an air of subtlety I offered, "_That_ is very different. We are matched with a suitable partner for copulation. There is no…attachment involved. It is mating and we perform it as a responsibility to our people."

Her skin tone deepened to a lovely shade of pink, which both intrigued and confused me. My words charged forward, despite my deep desire to bite my own tongue off, stating, "Humans express regard through…physical intimacy."

The warmth of her complexion died almost instantly as she stated, "Not always." I instantly understood the truth in her words. The Elf nightly spoke of such acts, describing them as free of all attachment aside from the desire for conquest. It was akin to eating for some humans and elves, but I got the impression that was not true for her.

For a time I had watched her with the other Grey Warden, had seen the unguarded moments where she allowed her hand to brush his. They had travelled a long time together before they had shared the night with each other and, unlike the Elf or the Dwarf, they never spoke of their time together. Such intimacy meant something to her, holding meaning similar to what it had meant for me to assist with her armor. For her it was about trusting someone enough to be vulnerable with them.

Thinking on this filled me with a deep compassion and desire to reach out to her. I had no desire to replace the other Grey Warden in her regard. I wanted to hold my own place.

Approaching her I brushed my fingers across her jaw. I could feel the tension there melt under my hands and her breath was shaky as she closed her eyes. Her skin was smooth, like snow in the mountains. I crouched to be closer to her. When her eyes opened she looked at me with a tenderness that made my heart ache, "Kadan, we are different but some part of me longs for you. I wish to express it and my words fail me."

For a moment she looked at me helplessly before her eyes took on a vague light and she asked softly, "May I assist you, Sten?" Her hand hesitantly plucked at my armor buckles at my side, tentatively communicating her meaning. I began to realize how astutely she had been watching me. She understood the depth of what these actions conveyed.

Once I had been divested of my upper armor, I assisted in removing her greaves and she mine, though with some difficulty. When this had been completed I helped her to her feet and stood before her. She allowed me without question or protest to unpin her locks, her head resting softly against my chest, close to where my heart was beating wildly. Without my armor it felt like it would fly from my chest. It was strange to me how I could face death and danger and be completely at ease and now I was coming undone.

As a qunari, I was proud of my prowess as a warrior, my ability to conquer as my forefathers had done. Now I stood before a human woman and all of my calm was overcome by the desire to touch her, to run my fingers through her soft brown hair. She had performed the most cherished task that one qunari could do for another and I longed to express that same depth of devotion to her in a way that held meaning for her.

When she raised her head to gaze into my eyes again, breathing with me, her lips were so close. We no longer touched, though we were so near to each other the warmth of our bodies mingled, easily felt through our pads. I could not stand it any longer. I had to act on what burned in me, roiling beneath the surface and unable to be dismissed through my conscientious meditation.

Lowering my head, my lips touched hers. I had intended it to be a moment; a quick brush like our first had been that night by the fire. As her lips parted I wanted to draw her closer, my hands brushed her throat in gentle haste to touch her hair again, drawing her tantalizing warmth closer to me.

Suddenly, she drew back, gasping; it made me feel bereft and I felt myself follow her retreat with the lean of my own body. Her lips were still close enough to feel her breath against my cheek.

Internally I questioned the wisdom of my actions, thinking I had frightened her until she protested huskily, "You do not have to, Sten. I understand." She was concerned that I was compromising myself, she did not require proof of my feeling and it made me more vehement in my desire to remain close to her, to continue touching her.

The Elf had often spoken of "need" but I doubt he ever knew of the nature of true _need_. I _needed_ her. Unable to voice this to her, I managed a ragged, _"Yes_" before stopping any further protests with my renewed kiss. I felt her soft moan against my lips and her hands flexed against my chest. Her mouth was alive, drawing me into an even deeper kiss.

It was not unheard of for a man and a woman among my people to form an emotional attachment and mate. The act of copulation, however, never signified attachment. In some cases, it was claimed that the physical intimacy distracted from one's devotion to others and to the whole. A qunari could go without touch of skin for years, particularly if they devoted themselves to meditation and contemplation and to forego it never seemed a sacrifice.

I had not intended this, but I could not deny the emotions that stirred within me and its amplification with each caress. In doing this we were meeting in a place between what it meant to be a qunari and what it meant to be a human. The distinction no longer mattered or seemed to exist.

For a moment I broke the kiss, to place soft imprints of my lips upon her brow, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck. Breathing deeply, I was immersed in her distinct scent of leather, sweat and the dried flowers she carried with her clothes. I clasped her hands where they rested on my chest and brought them to my lips as well, pressing my mouth into her right palm. She leaned her forehead into my jaw and I could feel the dancing of her breath against my neck, just beneath my ear.

Taking back her hands, she groped around my waist until she found the edge of my tunic and began to lift it, easing it over my head and allowing it to fall to the floor. I stood before her, my torso bare. She ran her hands over my shoulders, down my forearms, pausing when her fingers reached a scar that reached around the right arm, near the elbow.

She looked into my face and asked, "How?"

"When I was training with one of my brethren, before I was tried for the Beresaad, I was injured when a blade snaked past my defenses, catching me past the edge of my gauntlet. The healer had been concerned that I would lose my dominant sword arm." I explained, thrilling as she traced the scars with her fingers.

With a studying look, she guided me with her hands to turn towards the fire, enabling her to see my back. There she found another scar, beneath the left shoulder blade, "And this?"

I could feel her drawing her fingers along the jagged line, causing my body to tingle to the bottom of my feet. Trying to keep my voice even I stated, "That I received in a skirmish with a Northern tribe. I had to forego my armor in favor of speed. It was a calculated risk."

She leaned her whole body against my back, molding herself to it. Her cheek pressed between my shoulder blades. Her arms reached around under my own, embracing me like that for a moment. Her heart was hammering against the center of my back, her hands continuing to search out more scars that I had earned in battle to memorize them with her light touch.

I reached behind me, firmly gripped her arm and drew her to stand before me again. It was my turn to draw away her padded tunic to touch her. My own hands found one of her recent scars across her left rib cage, just below her breast, that was only just barely healed. When I brushed my thumb against it she winced and I raised an eyebrow, wondering if it still pained her.

"No, it does not hurt," she explained, reading the concern in my eyes, "just sensitive."

She seemed startled when I lowered myself to my knees; even kneeling I had to incline my head to gently run my tongue and mouth along the scar's outline. Her breath caught in her throat, and her back bowed, causing me to steady her with my hands upon the small of her back to hold her to me. I trailed more kisses across her stomach before moving up between her breasts, up her neck, returning once again to her lips.

Even now this was not enough. I wrapped my arms around her, raising her off her feet in an attempt to bring her closer as I more thoroughly explored her mouth with my tongue, my hand cradling the back of her head, tangling in her tresses, and still it did not seem close enough. She twined her arms around my neck, clinging to me, brushing her fingers against my face.

Finally I groaned, drawing my face back long enough to look meaningfully into her eyes, "Kadan, I professed that nothing was more patient than stone." I rasped, breathing deeply before continuing, "You have the ability to break even the stone of patience."

With that I resolutely carried her around the bed.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

_This was a very difficult chapter to write. I did not want to compromise Sten. Please let me know if I missed the mark. It is so important to me that I get this right._


	5. Surrender

**Surrender**

How can one dissuade an immovable force? … You don't.

My reluctant protests to reassure Sten that I did not require him to continue, that his reserved regard was enough, were cast aside by this "stone" and replaced with another eager kiss that left my knees weak. I could not help moaning from somewhere in my throat, gripping the front of his tunic with my fingers, not wanting him to stop kissing me. When he finally did break the kiss it was so that he could lingeringly trace my features with near reverent lips. He snatched up my hands from where they were loosely holding his shirt, kissing over my knuckles before placing a kiss into the palm of my right hand, his tongue lightly brushing my skin.

The kisses made me feel warm, safe, cherished in a way that was hard to describe. I leaned against his jaw with my forehead and focused on breathing for a moment, considering how to continue, what to do next in response to all of the whirling feelings and sensations that were washing over me. Sten had decided to move forward with this, how did I reply in kind in a way that recognized how I respected him?

Something my mother said came back to me. It was no accident that I had become an accomplished warrior. Not only was my father a meticulous tactician and fighter, but my mother was a gifted archer and could hold her own on a battlefield if she so chose. With two strong scrappers in the house, they could at times find themselves at odds with one another. After they had a particularly loud row in my father's study, they would retire to their rooms eagerly and would not be seen again until the following day. These incidents baffled me and I was a young woman so I had a concept of what went on behind closed doors.

When I asked my mother about it, she smiled to herself a moment before explaining, "Only a warrior can truly appreciate another warrior. We understand the struggles and sacrifice the other makes and what the scars actually cost. I may no longer fight on the battle field, but I remember and your father also remembers. The love we have is so intermingled with our respect for the other that it can be overwhelming."

"But you sound so angry with each other and then you retreat to be alone together; it does not make sense."

She chuckled knowingly, "He and I are different people with different ideas. We learned long ago that would lend itself to our share of battles with each other. Instead of resenting the others' strength, we learned to accept it and found ways to meet half-way. At times it requires one or both of us to surrender, but those are the times we feel closest."

The words came back now, _"Only a warrior can truly appreciate another warrior."_ Sten was definitely a warrior worthy of respect. When we met skirmishes together I knew I could rely on him. He did not hold back in battle and readily guarded my flank. Even as a large man, Sten's movements were graceful and precise, almost rivaling Zevran for beauty. He had been wounded enough times, patiently permitting Wynne or I to dress them, that I was familiar with some of his scars.

A warrior always has scars.

I found myself groping to find the edge of his tunic. I wanted to see his scars and convey to him that I appreciated them, that I appreciated how he defended me as a warrior and that I could rely on him. His eyes held questions as I pulled back enough to lift his shirt over his head, exposing his chest, but he did not protest, allowing me to cast it to the floor.

Sten was well made. His shoulders were broad and strong. His olive skin covered the muscles, crisscrossed in scattered places with light pink scars; my hands drifted over his skin until I came across a particularly prominent scar on his right arm, near his elbow. Where it was located implied that it was a serious wound since it could have potentially crippled him, severing his arm. I looked into his eyes and asked, "How?"

"When I was training with one of my brethren, before I was tried for the Beresaad, I was injured when a blade snaked past my defenses, catching me past the edge of my gauntlet." He explained it to me and I turned back to examining it, tracing it lightly. His voice did not waver, but I noticed that he swallowed briefly before continuing, "The healer had been concerned that I would lose my dominant sword arm."

With a hand on his bicep, I maneuvered him to turn so that I could examine his back. It two was crisscrossed with more scars, but there was another pronounced scar under one of his shoulder blades and close to his spine. If that wound had been any farther to the right, he would have been dead. The thought of him being so seriously wounded caused my heart to speed up nervously. This one I outlined, committing it to memory, when his voice offered, though it was raspy, "That I received in a skirmish with a Northern tribe. I had to forego my armor in favor of speed. It was a calculated risk."

The space between his shoulder blades was at the right height for me to rest my cheek against it. While still questing over his skin with my hands, I leaned my entire body against him, embracing him, eyes closed, trying to remain completely in the moment. The warmth of his skin, with its rough textures dispersed with the smooth, the subtle shudder of his body as he breathed, the flexing tension in his muscles, the salty smell of his skin; everything imprinting itself in my memory.

I did not stand like that long, for with a firm grasp on my wrist and reaching back with his other arm; he guided me around to face him again. Cautiously he drew my own covering over my head and lost no time, hands hungrily dancing across my skin with just enough pressure that caused my muscles to tingle beneath my skin. He also paid close attention to my scars, but it was when his hand brushed the recent scar on my ribs I choke on my breath a moment. I had not anticipated the pleasant shock of it gritting my teeth.

My reaction elicited a concerned look from Sten and I quickly attempted to put him at ease, "No, it does not hurt, just sensitive." I did not anticipate, however, that it would cue him to immediately lower himself to his knees before me and cover the scar with his mouth. His sucking on the uneven edges of the wound caused me to jerk in response, my back arching. His hands supported my back, firmly holding me to his mouth so that I could not escape and my breath was gasping. His tongue teased me a moment longer before he kissed over my belly, taking tender care over my navel, the valley between my breasts, one stray, suckling kiss on my collar bone and he again covered my mouth with his own.

Sten was a strong man; he could easily break me in half but I was not afraid. I had seen him impale ogres on his long sword: no mean feat. I had known smaller men who claimed to not know their own strength and unintentionally caused injuries. This man knew himself well enough to know he had to be careful and so he was.

There was a low growl in his throat, so subtle it was like the rumble of distant thunder. He lifted me off the floor, cradling my body in his arms, pinning me to him. A hand was tangling in my hair, his tongue urgently coaxing my lips to part to deepen the kiss. Clinging to his neck, running my hands over his face, his shoulders, his neck, I wanted to run my hands all over him, his muscles moving like water above me and beneath me.

"Kadan," he groaned, his mouth leaving me on the verge of making noises of protest with the sudden stop. He looked deeply into my eyes, something raw and near feral struggling with the tender calm that pervaded his being, "I professed that nothing was more patient than stone. You have the ability to break even the stone of patience."

He carried me to the bedside, laying me down cautiously, propping himself up above me on his elbows and knees. I glanced down the line of him suspended so tantalizingly close and I could feel him hesitating. He whispered hoarsely, looking down at me, "Kadan…do you want this?"

I felt a pause as I considered the question. I knew my body wanted Sten, but it was more than that. The feel of his body, the hungry kisses, the way I could read him and respond to him more so than any of the others. Feeling the level of awe and respect he inspired in me encouraged me to keep going and remain open with him. I wanted Sten the man, but I _needed _him in a way that eclipsed my desire for his body, the craving for his touch.

Everything hinged on my answer. "Sten of the Beresaad, you are a worthy warrior, a trusted friend and comrade. I _need_ you in a way I have needed no one else. You are my _Asala_. You are part of me even if we never touch again."

His eyes closed and for a moment I feared I had said the wrong thing; that he would withdraw and leave, but Maker I _felt_ what I said so deeply. Tears stung me and I tried to deny them, closing my eyes.

"Do not weep," the rasping plea caused me to open my eyes and look into Sten's face, his hand softly tracing the trail of a tear down my face. Supporting himself on one arm so that he did not crush me, he ran his free hand over my breasts, his thumb flicking over the nipples, causing me to blush and my mouth to run dry. It is only when he takes them into his mouth that I forget to breathe entirely.

While his mouth quested over my breasts, his hand did not remain idle. Running over my rib cage down to my hips, squeezing my thigh, causing me to raise up my leg slightly to better cradle where his body was now leaning, it left feelings of warmth that spread between my legs in chorus with the tension building in my stomach. Through the leggings and small clothes I could feel him and I could not resist the urge to grind against him to discover his reaction.

His mouth releases his suckling of my breast, with a soft roar of naked need. He pulled himself up, dragging his body against mine until our faces were even; his eyes oddly tender and near wild with desire.

"You are willfully straining my resolve." He accused with a hiss, though it was not angry.

"Sten of the Beresaad," I whispered, becoming very serious, mimicking the question he himself had asked only moments before, "…do you want this?"

The voice was strained with impassioned impatience, "You should sooner ask if I _wanted_ to _breathe_. This is no longer about _want_ or _desire,_ this is now about _need_," his eyes looked pained as he near inaudibly whispered, "And I _need _you, Kadan!"

Caution be damned! I kissed him then with almost bruising haste, feeding at his lips as if I would never eat again. I gripped his shoulders until he forcibly disengaged them with his own hands, lacing his fingers in mine as he held them against the bed, all the while maintaining the hungry kiss. I found myself arching my back, trying to erase any space between us, hungry to feel every inch of his skin against mine.

He pulled back from me again, this time with a gasp, saying, "One of us has to maintain some logical thought." He gazed at me, mirroring the same desperation that I felt, but managing to keep it under control, "Obviously that will not be you."

"Logical thought is overrated," I whine through my love swollen lips, though I try to calm myself.

"Aye," he allowed, "but if I were to tear off your leggings and small clothes as I desire to do at the moment, you will have nothing to wear come morning." With that he began to gently peel back what was left of my clothes, trailing them with his mouth on my thighs, my calves and my feet. Though his body language implied casual patience, his eyes belied it, glittering with hungry longing, yet he managed to observe, "Your armor would be uncomfortable."

The slowing allowed for some of the red haze to clear from my mind and I began to appreciate the view of the man who I was about to share my body with. He eased his own clothes off, revealing the rest of his perfectly muscled physique. I allowed him to see my appreciation in my eyes, and his eyes seemed to only become hungrier.

He lay down on his side next to me, drawing me into his arms and against his chest. I could feel his intent was to pull me on top of him, enabling me to ride his body. It would have put me in control and, on reflection, I did not want that. Instead I created some leverage with my legs to pull him almost on top of me, which was easy since he did not expect it. The hungry look was replaced with concern and he whispered, "Kadan, I could hurt you if I am not careful."

"You will not hurt me," I reassured him, trusting him to be careful as I always had, as he had always proven himself to be. He licked his lips, looking uncertain.

To remove the fear from his eyes, I reached down and cupped him in my hand, running my fingers along the length of him. This produced a strangled cry from him that I silenced with my own mouth and his eyes once again roiled with a combination of need, tenderness and hungry desire. It was his turn to bow his back against me as I gently squeezed him in my hand.

All arguments died as he snatched my hand away from where it teased and instead placed it over his heart, holding it there as he looked down into my face. Carefully maneuvering himself over me, he vowed, "My Kadan, I am yours." With that profession, he allowed himself to completely cover me with his reassuring weight, enveloping me in the full warmth of him as he entered me. My hips rose to meet him in welcome. It was a perfect moment.

As we began to move together, the rocking reminiscent of the sea, he looked down into my face and I gazed up into his. The pressure began to build after seconds and the pace became erratic. His name was a frantic prayer on my lips as we bucked the bed and he was fighting to maintain eye contact. The wet warmth built with the friction of our bodies, our limbs entwined, embracing as if we feared that the momentum would fly us apart.

I cried out first, only to have it smothered on my lips as he kissed me and reached his ecstasy as well. Clinging to each other we fought the last vestiges of the waves of pleasure crashing over us and tried to regain our breath again as he lowered himself onto his side. He pulled me close, breathing soft kisses into my hair.

Maker, I had never felt so spent. He pulled a blanket over us as I quivered in his arms and whispered, "I am yours, Asala." Sleep replaced all the exhilaration leaving my limbs and feeling safe.

Sometime before dawn I awoke in the bed, alone. A feeling of panic started to sweep over me until I heard a stirring by the fire place.

Cautiously I raised my head, hoping to not draw attention to the fact that I had awakened. The fire had been re-stoked and its cheery light danced over the seated figure of Sten. He had dressed in his leggings, but his torso was still bare. In his arms he held my breastplate and he was carefully polishing it by the light of the fire.

I lowered my head back to my pillow and allowed sleep to reclaim me with the knowledge that I was indeed cherished.


	6. Qunari

**Qunari**

Morning had come and she slept. Her brown hair framed her face against the pillow and her breath came in little sighs. It was the first time I could recall ever seeing her sleep peacefully. Whenever I had observed her sleeping at the camp she was often plagued by nightmares or would scream in her sleep with memories of her family which she never discussed with any of us. Now there was no frown marring her face or wrinkling her brow. Unable to help myself, I brushed my fingers against her soft cheek, causing her to mutter something incoherent and roll over.

Not wishing to disturb her further, I drew a blanket over her shoulder and got out of the bed to collect my discarded garments. Putting on my breechees I cast another look over my shoulder at my sleeping Kadan and felt a combination of both longing and futility fill my chest.

It had been my intention to inform her of my interference last night with the Mage and the other Grey Warden. I had been prepared for her displeasure with me and knew she would not look kindly on me overruling her decision. I would never have presumed to perform such an action with my _Arishok_, but she was my Kadan. My devotion to her simultaneously elevated her standing above all authorities that I recognized and also enabled me to disregard her authority in pursuit of her well being. I was her equal, her head and her servant.

The Qun dictates my place: I am a Sten. It is all I was ever meant to be. I was called to crush all enemies of the Qun and in assisting to destroy the Blight, my actions coincided with that responsibility.

My exchange with Kadan the previous night overstepped the boundaries set for me. The act of fornication was intended for procreation and I had performed it that night as an act of fellowship and intimacy. I berated myself and yet felt no remorse for that exchange. It had been the most important night of my singular existence…

…_but_ I was not meant to have a singular existence, I was a _Sten_. I was _Qunari_. I was a member of the _Anaton_: a part of the greater whole. I was one with the _Qun…_

_…but _I was also one with my Kadan. She was not of the Qun. It was possible that she could find the Qun and accompany me to Sleheron. She could embrace my way of life and be made whole as a part of the whole. Many humans had done this and were satisfied.

_However_ this would mean I would have to share her with my brethren and this disturbed me. Under the Qun she was merely a woman. They would never recognize her as a warrior, they would not see her worth as I had come to witness it. The Qun would strip her of what essentially made her my _Kadan_.

I was no longer what I was meant to be under the Qun, but I was unsure if what I had become was what I wanted to be. To no longer be Qunari meant that I would be a _Tal Vashoth_ and I could not bear the thought of that. I remember the atrocities that I had seen committed by the Tal Vashoth against my countrymen. To be Tal Vashoth meant I was no longer a man but a beast ruled by its instincts and emotions, driven by the need for feral violence. That was not a life worth having.

On the other hand, to continue being Qunari meant I would have to live without my Kadan. Without her I was not sure if that would be life.

Reflecting and meditating on my dilemma was not easing my mind. If I had no peace of mind I would be useless in the upcoming battle and I needed to be clear in purpose. How could I protect my Kadan if I could not think as a Sten?

Absently I had begun to pace the room and my growing disquiet was causing me to sporadically flex my hands into fists. I itched to kill something. Set me loose on the darkspawn at that moment and I would massacre them all. _Aaargh!_ I was starting to feel like the Dwarf. The only thing he longed for more than bloodshed was a large tankard.

My eyes settled upon the armor that had been carefully arranged by the fireplace, dulled with time and use. After stoking the fire I carefully picked up Kadan's breastplate, running my hand over the dents that pocked it, I thought of the cherished body that would wear it and be protected by it. I thought of the men and women who would look to her in this armor and would be inspired by her. She was not only of a singular existence, she was part of a larger whole as well and she was called to lead. I was called to protect her. I had a place and a responsibility to fulfill regarding her. I was still Sten, but I was called to be her Asala

Finding a rag among my belongings, I sat upon the hearth and began to rub the tarnish off the surface. As it slowly began to gleam, the tension eased from my shoulders. It was active meditation. I reflected on our battles and her skills. She still had a small hole in her guard and I resolved to address it with her before reaching Denerim.

On closely examining the straps I noticed that one was nearly worn through. If left alone it could break and in the midst of battle that would be disasterous. Warriors needed armor they could rely on.

Glancing to the window I noticed the sky outside was shifting to pale gray signaling the coming dawn. Kadan was still asleep and needed her rest but these straps needed a skilled tanner. I was aware of a tanner in the main courtyard of the castle who would be able to fulfill the task with high quality results rather than if we waited to address it during our march. Pulling my tunic over my head, I picked up the breast plate and left the room and headed down the hall towards the stairs.

It was the sound of familiar voice that caused me to halt suddenly, "So, Qunari, did you damage the Warden's armor in an act of passion? Was it the _nuzzling_?"

_"Vashedan!"_

"And a hearty _`good morning'_ to you as well."

"Is there something further you require, Mage?" I demanded, turning to her as she stepped out of an empty doorway beside me. She maintained a passive stance but the tone of her previous words belied a sense of amusement.

"Not a thing," she reassured me with a voice that was less than reassuring, "As I explained last night I must be within the vicinity of the battle for the final part of the ritual to be complete. Make certain that I accompany the Warden in the search for the Archdemon and Nature will do the rest. My presence is the only thing that allows some assurance of certainty that your Warden will survive…your Kadan, if you will. That is what you call her now, is that not correct?"

I refused to rise to the needling in her voice. Let her play games with the Assassin, the Dwarf or the Other Warden that she bedded for her ritual, I would not be baited. She was a Mage, a Saarebas, and I was a Sten. It was not my place to collar her, she was not answerable to me, but I was also not answerable to her.

I sighed at her in thinly veiled annoyance, but proceeded down the hall to complete my original purpose. She called after me a second time and tried to walk beside me as I made my way to the stairs, "I had considered apologizing to the Warden for my hasty departure last night and explain how things progressed afterwards, but I was unsure of what you had told her of my exchange with Alistair."

Without breaking stride I glanced down at her, "We have yet to discuss your arrangements with the Other Warden."

"But you _will_ tell her, will you not?" She angled her words with a raised brow.

"Yes."

"Are you sure that is wise? Will she not be upset that you disregarded her wishes and _brokered_ my arrangements where she refused?" The taunting in her voice was unmistakable. She wanted me to squirm . Qunari do _not_ squirm.

"Perhaps." I allowed, keeping my words devoid of emotion as I always did with her. Once I had believed that her magical abilities are what made her dangerous. Through intense scrutiny I discovered that is was her propensity to manipulate the emotions of her companions for her own ends that truly marked her as dangerous. I would give her no such fuel.

"Are you not concerned that such a betrayal would shatter the fragile understanding the two of you have recently hewn?" She wheedled in her cloying way, slowly drawing closer in the guise of a co-conspirator.

"You presume too much, Mage." I replied with a measured, dispassionate tone, "_If_ there was any understanding between the Warden and myself, it would not be fragile."

"Perhaps I am being presumptuous," she allowed with a nonchalant shrug, "but the woman I know might be greatly upset by such an action."

I shook my head, "You _do not_ know her as I know her."

Inwardly these words felt reassuring to me. What passed between my Kadan and me was not able to be conceived by this woman, of that I was certain. I would not allow her to undermine it by corrupting my heart with self-doubt. I continued forward and refused to be disturbed by this mosquito of a Mage.

"There is one last thing of which I am curious," she confided coyly as she strode faster to keep up with my brisk pace but would obviously not be able to maintain for long while chattering at me, "what is the meaning of the word _Kadan_?"

"It cannot be explained to one who is without a level of comparison." Though the words sounded neutral on my lips, in my heart I harbored a deep sense of satisfaction as I recognized the deeper truth of my words.

The Warden was my _Kadan_ and I resolved to inform her of what had happened before this went any further.


	7. BASTARD!

_BASTARD_!

When I awoke again, Sten was gone. I felt a combination of disappointment and relief. The emotions he had stirred in me needed to be examined and I knew I would not be able to do that in his presence and the road ahead of us also did not afford much by way of time.

There was a certainty within me: I wanted to have him by my side in the time I had left. We would never have what we had that night again, but it did not diminish my desire to be in his presence.

I was prepared to die. It was down to Riordan and myself. Alistair had to survive. Though he lacked in self-confidence, he had the potential to be a good king. He would put the needs of Ferelden first. If I had never loved Alistair I doubt I would have seen the depth of his potential and the quality of his heart. My depth of feeling for him only made the decision easier.

It was my feelings for Sten that gave me pause. How I felt for him was not minimalized by my previous feelings for Alistair. If anything what I felt for Sten was richer. He was not my first love, but I knew that Sten was my last love. It simultaneously broke my heart and filled me with determination to see my purpose to the end. If I failed I would not be worthy of him.

A light knocking on my door broke me from my reverie and I called, "One moment, please." I found a light robe that had been provided for me in a chest by the bed and put it on before answering the door.

Alistair stood in the hall, looking very uncomfortable. For a moment he seemed unsure of where to look before gazing into my eyes. The emotion inherent in his face was a jumbled wash of things I found hard to read, though he was obviously distressed.

"Alistair, come in. Are you well? You look ill." I ushered him in and encouraged him to sit on a chair near the door. "I know that what Riordan told us last night was difficult to hear. Riordan knows what he is doing and if he should fail then I will be able to take up the mantle. Please be at ease."

"Elissa…please stop. I have ensured that will not be necessary."

Those words caused me to stop short in confusion, "What?"

He sighed and ran a weary hand over his face, pausing to massage the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb. "Last night…Morrigan came to my room."

I felt like I wanted to choke. When Morrigan had left the previous night she had been so angry that I doubted she would come back. It had troubled me, but I had let her go thinking that it was for the best, that I had made the best decision.

"Alistair…are you saying…?" The words would not come. How do you ask your former lover if he had slept with another woman? I had been fine with the thought of him marrying and making a political alliance, I had resigned myself to it. The thought of him sleeping with Morrigan for the purpose of having a child in a fertility rite made my blood run cold.

"Elissa…" he paused, seeming to bolster himself before continuing, "…it is done."

A pit formed in my stomach, it was like fire was exploding behind my eyes, my face flushed, I saw everything in a tinge of red. Once Oghren had described to me what it was like for a berserker to go into a frenzy and this moment seemed a close approximation to what I recalled of the description. I bit my tongue, let the salty taste of blood fill my mouth in order to hold back the words that threatened to rush forth. Pacing, digging my nails into the palm of my hand, I could feel my shoulders tighten and my gut begin to tremble. Unable to withstand the sudden onslaught of emotions, I finally exploded, "WHY? Why would you even consider doing such a hideous thing? It goes against everything…you hate her…" My heart was galloping in my chest like a frightened horse escaping a fire and I was desperately trying to regain control of the reins.

For a moment, it seemed like Alistair began to cringe and then something broke in his eyes. He glared up at me, "It does not matter if I hate her. It does not matter if I detest her. It does not matter if it feels like I will never be clean again after having touched her. None of it matters because it does not equal or eclipse how much I _love you_! How dare you speak to me like this! How dare you play holier than thou!"

"You had no right!" I yelled at him, "I had decided. I was prepared. It was not meant to happen this way. _You had no right!"_

With that he leapt to his feet and squared off with me, nose to nose, "_I _had no _right?_ Who were you to decide this? It was my decision! Did it even occur to you when you and Morrigan discussed the rite that _I_ might have a say? Who were you to decide who makes the sacrifice? Who were you to say who I did or did not sleep with? _Who said you get to play hero and I have to stand there helplessly and watch you die? _What makes that right and what I did wrong?"

Not thinking, I swung at him and he caught me by the wrist before I could make contact but it was awkward and I slammed into him with my shoulder instead. My violent momentum forward knocked both of us to the floor in a gasping, thrashing heap. I struggled to squirm away from him, but he was faster, gripping me by the shoulders, wrapping a leg around my lower body to pin me to the floor while I struggled against him.

"_BASTARD!"_ I shrieked, my insides felt shredded and I could not stop.

"That's right!" He gritted out into my hair, "I was always a bastard! Now I am a royal bastard who is going to sit on a throne and wear a crown. I am entitled to hard choices too. I have decided you are going to live. Hate me if you must but, _damn it_, you will be _alive_ to do so and I can live with that. That is far more acceptable to me than you dying senselessly."

I began to sob at that point, spent. I could live with the thought of dying. The thought of living instead completely sapped my rage and my strength. Sensing the sagging of my body, Alistair slowly released me and lay back on the floor, panting. The sounds of my crying became stuttering gasps when he finally sat up and pulled me into his lap, stroking my hair, holding me close to his chest and letting me weep myself dry.

"You took my desire to live," I sobbed into him, "and just when I made peace with it, feeling that I could move on in a way that allowed me some semblance of honor, finally…" a hiccupping choke cut me off and I found I was unable to continue.

He continued to hold me, trying to be comforting. I am not sure how long we were there with me sprawled across his lap until the last of the tears subsided. It should have been awkward, it should have felt somehow wrong for the two of us to be this close, but I was too numb to care.

Alistair finally looked over my head to the hearth a few feet away and noticed the armor neatly arranged, "That is Sten's armor by the fireplace along with yours…"

Part of me froze when I heard the words and I silently prayed, "_Oh Maker, what will he think of this?"_

"Yes," I stated with as little emotion as possible. I considered pointing out that I owed him no explanations, but after my recent outburst that would sound both hypocritical and hollow.

"He was here last night…" Alistair was slowly letting the pieces fall together; the clicking as each joined was almost auditory, "You and he…"

He stood abruptly causing me to roll from his lap onto the floor. When he approached the armor, he gently picked up one of Sten's large gauntlets and looking at it as one studies a tome or a complex puzzle. He lifted his eyes again to mine and his face looked ashen and there was something dark in his eyes that would have made me shudder if I had not been so emotionally exhausted.

At that moment Sten entered the room, speaking as he walked, "Kadan, I had a fraying strap replaced by the tanner. Also, there is much we should discuss before it becomes much later…" on seeing Alistair, Sten stopped in the doorway.

The gauntlet fell to the floor with a clatter and Alistair said very solemnly and quietly in a tone I had never heard him use before, "Draw your weapon, qunari."

"I beg your pardon, Warden?" Sten queried.

"Your weapon, draw it." Alistair spat, stalking forward and stopping directly in front of Sten, "Once you stated that you wanted to see what I could do. Now you shall have your wish, though it is slightly delayed. Meet me in the main courtyard prepared with a weapon. _By the Maker_, this will be settled before we ride to Denerim!" With that, Alistair marched from the room without a second look back.

Sten gently approached his armor where it lay by the fireplace and, after gently placing my breastplate with my other pieces of armor, he picked up the gauntlet. "It appears I have been challenged."

"I had not intended for this to happen," I whispered.

"Nor I, Kadan," he said hollowly, "nor I."


	8. Gauntlet

Gauntlet

So it was not my best or brightest moment.

If someone was tempted to ask, _"What were you thinking?"_

The answer would have been, _"I wasn't."_

Confessing to Elissa had been the hardest thing I had ever had to do. If she had refused to assist Morrigan to get my cooperation for the rite I was certain she would not be happy. Knowing that she had refused to offer her endorsement had also caused me to question Elissa's reasoning for the refusal.

We loved each other, which had not gone away when I had been chosen as king of Ferelden by the Landsmeet. I had ended the relationship out of a sense of responsibility and I had no desire to lead her on or disappoint her. It occurred to me when Sten spoke to me that night that her decision to sacrifice herself was directly related to my rejection of her. I could live without her if that is what my position required – it was a sacrifice for us both, but it was the right thing to do. However, I could not continue living if I just let her die when I could do something to save her, even if it meant defiling my body with Morrigan.

Every moment of that rite I had my eyes closed and imagined Elissa. Every caress I pretended that it was her in my arms. Every sigh or breath I repeated her name in my mind. Even if it was someone else, any child conceived in that bed was conceived out of my love for Elissa.

When she had blatantly stated that I _"had no right,"_ I lost it. It was not her fault that I had always deferred to her better judgment from that first moment that we found ourselves in Flemeth's hut after the debacle at Ostagar. It was not her fault that I allowed her to take the lead when I should have as the more senior Warden. Most of my life has been about following, being a good supporter to a respected commander. Those are hard habits to break. In all that time, though, she had always included me in the decision making, she asked for my opinion, she offered me possible options, and she reasoned them through with me. This time she took it for granted that I should have no input, that a decision that directly affected me did not concern me.

Damn, that woman could suffer like a silent martyr when she wanted to and it was usually when she had made up her mind about a decision that she knew I did not agree with. She was not getting away with it this time. She was not allowed to play the injured party. We both knew better!

Holding her there on the floor in the aftermath of our skirmish, it occurred to me how empty my arms had felt without her in them during the nights. Even angry at me, yelling at me, cursing me, her voice was the sweetest balm to my existence. I allowed myself to cling to that moment. I allowed myself to pretend that we could perhaps have that happily ever I had dreamed of in some small form, we could work it out…

…Then I saw Sten's armor.

Sten would never have left his armor in a room or place far from where he slept. He was too meticulous with his equipment. It probably had something to do with his training under the Qun. Those things were sacred to him. If the armor was in her room, then he had been in her room.

I had been prepared for Zevran to attempt to zoom like a vulture toward my newly vacated spot in her bed, though I knew he could not replace me in her affections. Perhaps that is why the thought of it did not threaten me. With Zevran it could be completely physical, no strings attached, she could sleep with him without it meaning something like it did with me. I had left her, how could I begrudge her some physical release. But Sten…

For months we had travelled together. I remembered the various times that Zevran and Oghren had crudely commented on the man's lack of physical companionship. He had told them that qunari did not view sex as a need, that it was something reserved for procreation. As a result, he had no interest in human or elven women. He remained as chaste as a Chantry brother every cold night in camp and did not give the slightest hint of sexual frustration.

The last two weeks, though, I noticed the change…in _both_ of them. Every so often he would glance at her, subtly when no one would notice. The look in his eyes seemed softer, like he wanted to say something too profound to be spoken in words. If she looked up and noticed, he did not look away or act embarrassed, he merely continued to look and she returned his gaze. He never physically closed the distance between the two of them and neither did she. In the day to day, their behavior towards one another never changed, but the eyes that exchanged glances said something different. I was not blind, I was not stupid, I was not imagining things to hang my jealousy upon. I knew what was there, but I also knew that they would _never_ act on it.

What a daft idiot I am!

If she had slept with him, it had meant something to her. What it meant to him I could not say, but I _knew_ her. The thought of them together tore something in me.

Before I could ask her, he walked into the room as if he belonged there. He cradled her breastplate in his hands so carefully. He said something about having a strap repaired by the tanner. It came out of his mouth so naturally, like something I might say to her. The word _"Kadan"_ was substituted for her name, a term of endearment. He had started using it weeks ago, but now there was a new meaning bestowed upon it with the warmth of tone that had never been there before.

He had usurped her heart. He had taken my place. He had something of import with her that I was forbidden from having.

Damn it, this was more than one man could take in a day!

The gauntlet clattered to the ground and I issued the challenge, the same one that he had issued to me so long ago that I had refused. He had said something then to the point that he could not allow my weakness to "damn us all." He had implied that I showed no backbone and I had retorted that I had nothing to prove to him. Now my one true weakness was staring me in the face and I would be damned if I would back down. He wanted a fight, he wanted to see what I could do and I was going to show him.

Stalking from the room, each step sounding hard against the flagstones, it burned in my chest. The anguish, that gnawing feeling that I had already lost and I only had myself to blame.

I kicked open the door of my room and started rifling through my things, organizing my armor, trying to decide if I should fight with a longsword and shield or if I should settle for going without a shield and rely on the power of a two-handed greatsword and attempt to cleave him in half. I knew full well that he had been trained as a soldier and seasoned in battle, but he did not know as much about the fighting styles of the Templars. I could use that to my advantage. That made having a shield available a better option. He might have size, but a strong shield could help to deflect some of his blows. If I wore him down gradually I could make a blow to the gut and…

"_What are you doing?"_ The voice of Wynne demanded from the doorway. I had been so preoccupied with planning for the duel that I had not even heard the door open.

I spun around and looked at her blankly a moment, thinking, _"What is she doing here? I need to plan my strategy. I cannot afford to be distracted now."_

"It is nothing you need worry about, Wynne," I waved her off as I resumed charging about my room like a man possessed.

"Like _hell_ it isn't." she stormed, "We have to leave from here and march on Denerim and it comes to my ears that you have challenged Sten to a duel. Time is precious, lives depend on us, are you really so dense that you cannot see that?"

The momentum that I had built up in my rage and jealousy came to a grinding halt. I gaped at her, trying to create a reasonable explanation from all the jumbling thoughts ramming about my head. My ego, my bruised heart, and my hasty decisions that had all led me to this moment were jumping around like little jesters in belled bonnets, but I was the biggest fool of all.

I collapsed on my bed, my shoulders sagging, my head hanging and I let out a long breath, clearing both my lungs and my mind. What madness had taken hold of me?

At that moment Oghren charged in past Wynne and clapped me on the shoulder, "Ah lad, you are starting the day in true warrior fashion. Many a morning in Orzammar did I spend finding a larger opponent to cut my teeth on before I could savor breakfast. Do you need a second? I'm ready and willing! Just say the word, my boy! If you fall I will cut him down at the knees, I swear!"

"What have I gotten myself into?" I moaned, putting my head in my hands.

"Call it off!" Wynne insisted.

Oghren turned to her as if she had grown another head, "Are you daft, woman? A warrior cannot take back a challenge once it has been issued. He would look weak."

"Alistair, I do not know what happened, but please reconsider." Wynne appealed to me, ignoring Oghren.

"Out," I stated, not looking at either of them. Wynne respectfully removed herself from the room without further comment.

Oghren, however, paced around a moment and added, "Good call, lad. Women let their emotions rule their decisions. You need to stop and consider your plan of attack, prepare yourself for what is ahead. Don't worry, though. Old Oghren will have your back."

"You too!" I said, glaring him down.

The dwarf straightened up slightly and slowly walked through the door, muttering, "Man does not seem to know his own mind."

He was quite right for once.


	9. Reckoning

Reckoning

The actions of the previous night had resulted in… intriguing consequences.

I had bedded Alistair, as was necessary for my plan. Once the deed was done, he had rolled away from me, refusing to look at me and hissed, _"Get out! Your pound of flesh has been collected."_

It had felt empty leaving that room, removing all vestiges of myself. I was once again on the outside. I had recalled the many nights I had heard the Warden and Alistair at their trysts, the warmth of their voices and the tenderness of their caresses in the privacy of a thin tent while I skulked around the camp, gathering herbs in the dark and left to ponder my own being. I had not begrudged their intimacy for I myself was satisfied by my solitary existence, but at the same time I felt a sense of envy.

I would never take one to my bed that I felt was beneath me just to sate the loneliness or to combat the cold. For all intense purposes, Alistair could not hold a candle to the Warden, so lofty was she in comparison. She saw the world as it was and embraced what most would reject. I never feared that she would drive me from her presence if I spoke of that which she disagreed. Alistair was small minded and simple. It did not bode well for Ferelden to have such a man as he on the throne. She could have achieved so much more without him, and yet she insisted on his presence, allowed for his petulance and encouraged him to perform better.

As loathed as I am to admit it, he also seemed to rise to her expectations.

However, their relationship was a curious thing to me. It was not about the sex. If it had been she could have just as easily taken the elven assassin to her bed. It was more than obvious that he possessed powers of flattery that far outstripped Alistair's bumbling attempts at compliments. The prudish ex-Templar in his awkwardness had ravished the senses of a woman who I considered the most sensible and it baffled me. He was the one she wanted.

The day of the Landsmeet, when all had been decided and I had watched Alistair execute the traitor in a frenzy of vengeful blood, I was admittedly impressed. For once the man had not disappointed. He saw his goal and disregarded all else in his path, without a single waver or whine he dispatched what he believed was his duty. Perhaps it was hasty, but it was the most decisive I had seen him in our entire travels.

He then proceeded to commit the traitor's daughter to a tower rather than executing her as well, reasoning that in the event that he died in ending the Blight the the country would not be left without a ruler. As is well known, all sheep need a dog nipping at their heels to prevent them from going over a cliff. It matters not if the dog is a male or a bitch. That decision also showed a sense of forethought and even-handedness that I had initially considered Alistair incapable of and it raised him ever so slightly in my esteem.

The surprises did not end there. He went on to another decisive, though wholly unnecessary action after he had divested himself of blood and partook of the necessary head nodding to the masses. Returning to our band where we waited in a side hall, looking sullen and serious, he called the Warden to him as if he were suddenly a different man. Without insisting on the rest of us leaving, without a thought of her feelings on being confronted in front of her comrades at arms, the man summarily ended his relationship with the Warden, claiming duty to the country. His decision sent our fearless leader into a stuttering demand for an explanation that was wholly beneath her and the pain shone in her eyes as she tried to make sense of what he intoned to her. It seemed as though the rest of us were frozen or ceased to exist in the face of such an exchange, watching them in disbelief as Alistair, on rendering his decision of what he felt was necessary for honor, curtly left.

For a moment I was tempted to hit him. The passion passed and it was probably just as well that I didn't, but I felt it deeply. I had disapproved of their relationship as vehemently as the crabby old woman had, but I had not desired him to hurt her. If anything, it was my hope that she would regain her senses on her own once she tired of him and run into the arms of one more worthy.

She grieved. It was not the blubbering that most women partook of when claiming a broken heart. It was a quiet withdrawal. She continued the movements of her existence, maintaining her position and continuing to lead us with a strong hand, even with Alistair trailing behind in his continued naval gazing that was reminiscent of his time after the defeat at Ostagar. They were lost without each other, though they did not betray it in their actions.

At this point I grieved the necessity of my plan. Bedding Alistair would hurt my friend, even knowing that he had rejected her. I needed to move forward, though I knew it caused her pain. It irked me that it made me even with Alistair in that I was moved by necessity as surely as he.

It is easy enough to deny the ties to a friend with a careless shrug and a neutral voice when in the company of others. When alone, the cold cloys at my soul. I am not an animal, though I can mimic the shape of one. I have the soul and she is the only one willing to acknowledge it. In my necessity I am required to betray a certain tenant of friendship that I had never realized existed and in doing so I had placed myself on the outside again.

I had not desired Alistair. I did what I must for the sake of a larger whole, a bigger picture that such a limited man could not see. Still, I felt regret. I felt the desire to beg forgiveness of the only person I held in esteem, the only person who felt like a sister, a kindred soul in the emptiness of my existence. I had betrayed the only other that had no desire to use me and had refused me for just that reason. Initially I had been angry, for she would not use me even in the face of reasonable arguments. She would not use me to save herself, even as Flemeth would have willingly done.

For once I had fellowship with both the Qunari and that empty headed Alistair. I acted out of duty to a larger purpose, even in the designs of a woman who claimed motherhood but never saw me as anything more than a tool. Never had I felt such a sense of equality and it made me human in a way that was devastating. Once I had reveled in my ability to remain apart, perceiving myself as superior in my self-contained life and now I was included in a fellowship that both gratified me and punctuated my futility. I would never measure up to her.

I had approached her room to confess, to divest myself of the guilt. It was then that I heard the sounds of passion. Once again I was relegated to a cold existence, listening hungrily to an exchange that I could never embrace or experience. The Qunari was with her, of that I knew. I had underestimated him and I had underestimated her.

In the throes of passion words were exchanged between the two that were baffling in their intimacy. The word "need" foremost and it caused a pang within. The Qunari was consumed by a devotion to her that was both endearing and far elevated from the needs of flesh. For weeks I had watched their dance, their chaste courtship, aware of the Qunari's beliefs and what that entailed for him. He had cast it all aside for one night with her. Could I have sacrificed so much for anyone?

For once I felt she was evenly matched.

I stole away from the room and waited for their eventual parting. The night was long and tedious in an empty doorway of a room that held no rest for me. There is no rest for the wicked. I was banished to my independence and unable to conceive of such a turn of fortune. Not one love, but two, and both framed her existence in such a way that made her richer and me poorer in comparison.

When the Qunari had emerged, carrying a piece of her armor in his hands, I should have held my peace. I should have allowed him to pass and not tainted what I myself longed for, but to do so would mean that I would cease to exist as I am. If this is my life and all I can hope for, then I was determined to embrace it, for good or ill.

My teasing irked him and he was not one to suffer fools gladly, but he remained civil, deflecting every barb, every pointed question and rejected every bait that I produced. He was truly impervious and a marvel to behold compared to the easily needled Alistair. Ah, such a challenge!

Under my feigned indifference, I was truly worried. I knew what passed between Alistair and I could not remain hidden, but for once it was not my sake for which I harbored concern. I knew that the Qunari's interference had the potential to drive a wedge between himself and the Warden. As jealous as I am, as selfish as I recognize myself to be, I had not desired that, particularly in the face of my friend's fragile happiness that she was able to claim for herself in the face of all her losses. All three of us had betrayed her in one form or another during the course of one evening and there would be a price to pay.

_"__If__ there was any understanding between the Warden and myself, it would not be fragile," _he had spat at me. He was unaware of the true nature of the world. Even strong things are fragile under the right circumstances. The mighty oak can be ripped up by the roots and turned to kindling in the right wind.

As I watched him stalk away and down the hall, I felt my brow furrow and thought to myself, _"For all our sakes, I hope you are right, Qunari."_

That was before Alistair's conscience compelled him to do what I had intended to do first. The scream of _"BASTARD!"_ had echoed down the hall. I had no gift for divination, but I still knew what such an accusation portended. I half expected her to find me and tear my eyes out and I would have allowed it. She was within her right and I would have allowed it. Just as quickly the storm died down and silence reigned without an audible stirring from the Warden's room from either her or Alistair. Moments later, the Qunari once again stalked up the hall with the piece of armor in tow and re-entered the room. I held my breath and listened.

I heard the clatter of armor, I heard the challenge and I heard the retreat of an angry, jealous king to his own room to prepare for battle.

Wynne came down the hall, moments later, in response to the shouting and I stood agog in my doorway. Being the only one visible she demanded, "What has happened? What was all the shouting about?"

"Our future king has challenged the Qunari to a duel." I explained shortly, blurting out what I myself could not conceive as possible.

I had been prepared to take the brunt of the displeasure that the previous night had portended. Such a thing would have been right and it was a price I had been resigned to for I felt I had deserved no better. This turn of events astounded and addled me.

"_What have you done?"_ Wynne demanded, her eyes narrowing. For all her nearsightedness she knew me and saw me truly in her stark judgments. I loathed her, but I loathed more that she was right. I remained silent for once, unable to confirm or deny with a tart remark the accusation of her gaze.

Unwilling to waste a moment more with me, Wynne went to Alistair with the intention, I presume, to talk him out of his rash decision.

A while later the Qunari emerged from the Warden's room, fully dressed in his armor and carrying his great sword conspicuously sheathed on his back. His face was awash with regret and grim determination. He walked as a man to his execution with a heavy tread, not reluctant but resigned. He did not notice me, or if he did he ignored me and I refrained from calling to him.

I crept from my room and warily approached the door of the Warden's quarters. Peering beyond the doorframe I noticed she sat on the bed, sagging visibly, cradling her face in her hands. Such feelings of remorse filled me on seeing what my friend had been reduced to, all due to my actions.

"_Warden, I believe you and I should have a reckoning. I fear I have greatly wronged you, my friend." _I whispered gently, placing a hand softly on her shoulder.

She looked up into my face, her eyes both haggard and startled. "Morrigan," she said, devoid of all the accusation I felt I deserved, "you were the last I would have expected to apologize."


	10. Seconds

_**Seconds**_

I stalked into the courtyard to await the future king of Ferelden. It had not been my desire to fight any this day but darkspawn, but honor demanded that I fight a man who is supposed to be my comrade at arms. Such misspent passions.

I had been prepared for my Kadan's displeasure at my actions or that the mage would inform her before I could explain it properly. It was unforeseen that the man would go to her to confess what passed last night between him and the mage. In his own confession, he discovered what had transpired between us and the man who had willingly cast away the heart of my Kadan flew into a jealous rage at the thought of another gathering in an embrace.

This would never have happened under the Qun. An arishok would never engage in such foolish behavior just before a battle. He would not risk blood and lives needlessly before meeting the enemy. This was yet another reason why these shores needed the Qun to bring order to the chaos inherent in the lives of humans.

Yet, under it all, my justifications under the Qun was hypocrisy. Part of my soul seethed with the thought of this human king who felt ownership of _my Kadan_. Had not my actions this past night made her _mine?_ Was I not defending my right to be her lover, to be with her openly? He surrendered his claim in the interest of his kingdom. Here I have no kingdom, no power, only her. Could he not allow us this and leave us in peace?

Trying to meditate again, to ease the frustration of my divided soul, I sat upon the courtyard steps and secured the buckles of my greaves firmly. Chanting under my breath, "_There is no chaos, only the Qun." _I would fight this king. I would illustrate the superiority of a warrior tried under its tenants. I would prove to these humans that I am equally worthy to love a woman…

"Argh!" I howled with frustration and cast one of my gauntlets across the courtyard, leaping to my feet. _How could I succeed when I was so torn between purposes?_

"This must be very difficult for you, _Camarada._" This was observed behind me by a heavily accented male voice. I turned to face the Elf, his arms crossed. Instead of his usual smirk his eyes held the hint of something foreign to his face: compassion.

"What do you want, _Elf_?" I demanded, growling to myself as I walked to fetch my gauntlet on the other side of the courtyard.

"From you?" the Elf queried casually, "Nothing at all. I merely came to observe your preparations. I find this situation quite intriguing. Forgive me, if I am being too forward, but does the Qun condone such blatant displays of emotion?"

My eyes turned to him, my jaw grinding, I snorted, "Does it matter to you?"

"Not per se," he admitted with a shrug, "although I confess to a certain amount of curiosity. In all the time we have travelled together I have not seen you so unsettled. Always you have been silent, sullen and impervious to the throes of passion. What has changed, _Camarada?_"

"Nothing…" I growled, before groaning, "_Everything_… I am of the Qun. I am part of a whole. Here I am disconnected…_fractured_. I cannot return to my people like this and I'm not sure if I want to. I am becoming a Tal-Vashoth against my best intentions and that frightens me, Elf! _ You know nothing of what I face! You care for nothing! __**You feel nothing!**_ You waver in the slightest breeze! You know nothing of what it means to be uprooted and desperately trying to hold to what is important!" The last was spoken with my roaring into his face, both of us standing toe-to-toe. He merely continued to watch me, making no attempt to defend himself or cower when I could easily have torn him apart.

"_Now_," he whispered with intensity, a vague light within his eyes seemed to spark to life, "now we finally understand one another."

With that he brushed past me and pulled out his two blades, "You will spar with me, Qunari! You must prepare for your duel and I am an expert on dealing with men fighting out of jealousy. I have fought _many! _Husbands, fiancées, lovers and former lovers, even fathers after I have slept with both their daughters and wives: I am quite experienced and it opens a number of weaknesses._"_

"I am not sparring with you!" I snorted, crossing my arms.

"Did I say I was giving you an option, _Qunari_?" the Elf growled, he parried forward and cut my forearm close to the elbow. It was not a deep wound, merely a scratch, but the serpent of anger coiled within me was awakened and I drew my sword. My new opponent smirked, "There, that is much better."

"You try my patience, Elf!" I barked, taking a few steps to the right.

"Do not distract me when I am about to best you!" he chided, and then continued, carefully remaining out of reach, "Primeramente, it is important to just stay out of reach of your opponent. He will readily charge forward in the rush of anger."

"A qunari would never do something so unskilled," I replied, trying to keep the roiling emotions under control.

"Truly," he countered, suddenly leaping forward and striking a blow to my right side, it did not penetrate my armor but the blade rang on contract. In my attempt to counter it I put myself off balance and he nimbly knocked my helmet from head with a well-placed blow from his knuckles. With that he swept his foot against my ankle, taking advantage of my weight displacement, causing me to fall and catch myself with my right hand, landing on my thigh. He danced back a few paces, always keeping me in sight, "Worry less about being a qunari and more about being an opponent."

Grunting, I returned to my feet and inwardly cursed myself for leaving him an opening, "I heed you!"

"Do you, you lumbering ox?" he spat, suddenly seeming irritated, "Am I no longer far enough beneath you that you can acknowledge me? I, an elf, a rogue and an assassin am permitted to teach a qunari warrior how to fight in hand-to-hand combat?"

I had left my helmet on the ground and my brow was perplexed. He took advantage of my confusion to dodge to my side and shove me on my left before I could even swing my sword to clip him. He was nimble and rolled behind me, using both his hands to push me forward onto my hands and knees due to a careful blow to the small of my back. This time he did not dance away, but instead kneed me in the gut causing me to fall to my side. Once on my back he placed the tip of his blade to my throat and I froze.

He stared down at me, an enigmatic expression on his face. He slowly began to speak, "You assume that I feel nothing, but I feel just as deeply as you. I have nothing left to lose. My entire life I was raised to be what I am: having emotions such as love were a liability. We merely acted, lived in the moment, killed without question if the money was good. Now, here I am an alien in a foreign country, unable to return to what I was prior to this. You have looked down on me for what I am, but how is being what I am any different from what you are? I have served a larger whole that demanded complete obedience. I was forced to fight and kill because that was what others dictated I should be."

He removed the blade from my throat and sheathed it on his back. He walked away and sat down upon the steps, "Elissa sees in me something more. Unlike you and Alistair who have lived with honor all your lives, I have not had such a luxury. I came here planning...intending to die because I could no longer live as I had. You say I feel nothing, well I love her as surely as you do, not because she is exquisite, not because she is strong, not because I have ached for her and know how truly unworthy I am to touch her. I love her because she sees in all of us something more – not who we are but who we have it in us to be. When Alistair hurt her, I wanted to cut his heart out, but I withheld my hand because she had wanted him to be king. She believed in him enough to let him go. You, however, if you hurt her I will not resort to a duel. Do you heed me now, _Qunari_?"

While he was speaking I rolled to my side and sat facing him on the ground. For once the Elf had stunned me. Unable to speak, I nodded my head woodenly.

"If Wynne is unable to speak some sense into Alistair," he sighed, "then I will be your second. I cannot say that I would not relish being able to try my blades against Alistair again in an even fight, but even I can see this duel is a grave mistake."

"There is no going back now, Elf," I mumbled, "We are all fated to this folly."

"To the end, _Comarada_?" he smiled sadly, approaching again and offering his hand.

"_To the end!" _I clasped his hand and he helped me to my feet.


	11. Blood

_**Blood**_

It is not unusual in tales of romance for two men to love the same woman. It is an exceptional plot twist that draws in an audience. Women swoon at the thought of inspiring such devotion, of having their pick between rugged men with strong arms and profound souls. In every one of these stories there is clearly a far superior choice: the one who is more sensitive, the one whose love is truer, whose heart is stronger or braver. The audience can certainly see who is truly worthy to win the heart of the heroine. As a young girl in Orlais, I had adored these stories, as did Lady Cecile and she insisted that I learn the tales and then relate them to her in the evenings when her eyesight became poor and she could no longer read by candle light.

It is not nearly so romantic or wonderful in reality, I have discovered.

When the Maker led me to Elissa, I became aware of what it would take for a real woman to become a heroine in the tales a bard tells. Aside from the holy bent of my following her, I had begun to consider immortalizing her exploits in an epic poem or a tale that could be passed down for generations. It is a far more arduous task than I originally dreamed. There is so much the old tales leave out or forget to mention. The choices in reality are never as obvious as they seem in the stories.

I had heard of what had transpired in broken pieces from servant gossip, from what Zevran had confided to me of his observations during his nighttime roving around the grounds, from Wynne's agonized worrying as she gathered healing herbs from her kit and from the broken sobbing I heard from Elissa's room after I had seen Morrigan enter with an unusually guilty countenance for the apostate. Even Sten's stern demeanor as he tried vainly to meditate and prepare in the courtyard told the story. As a spy and a storyteller I had grown accustomed to putting together the pieces of a tale, learning the various aspects of a story. What I had gleaned troubled me greatly.

As I watched Zevran and Sten retreat from the courtyard from my perch on the balcony, I realized what is at stake. Matters of the heart do not always lead to happy ends, as can be seen by how many tragedies are told to a hushed audience, stifling their sobs. Heroes and heroines lose their lives, people are betrayed, beliefs are compromised, lies are told, rash decisions are made, pride eclipses common sense and misunderstandings abound, remaining undiscovered until too late.

When the duels occur in the tales, there is always a villain opposite the hero, as with the duel between Alistair and Loghain at the Landsmeet. He was clearly the villain…wasn't he? The answers were not as clear to me as they once were… Howe was a villain, of that I am certain, how could he be anything other than that, but Loghain?

Regardless…we were to have a duel between two heroes: two men of equal value, both loved, both strong of heart and body. True, Alistair had hastily spurned his love in the face of duty, but should he die for that? True, Sten was a foreigner, a Qunari, different from us and destined to return to his own shores; did that mean he was expendable? No! This was not some tale to be decided by a bard's whim to please a fickle audience's prejudices!

I paced, I prayed, I pleaded, but came no clearer to an answer that would lead to a reasonable outcome. This did not make for an easy happy ending, if there could ever be a happy ending in such a dark, blood soaked reality. The tales never told of how much blood gets spilled. They never mention how hard it is to wash the blood out of white linens. They never state how sticky the blood is against one's skin when you have to walk for miles before the luxury of bathing. They never describe how much the stink of blood clings to your tresses, even after you vainly try to rinse it clear. We will never be free of the blood except when it is scrubbed clean in the stories bards will tell. Reality was bloody and the bloodletting never seemed to end despite our best intentions.

My heart was breaking for Elissa for I loved her too. Zevran was right, I too loved her for what she saw in me, but I also loved her for what I saw in her. At one point I admit that I was infatuated with her. She was exquisite, even in her clunky boots that did not properly display the beauty of her delicate feet. Yet, there was also a compassion to her, a strength that had nothing to do with what was inherent in a body. She inspired trust and you need not hide from her. She too had demons and flaws. She had patience, but would often steal away from the others and hack at a defenseless tree, particularly after Morrigan or Alistair had been sniping at one another, drawing her between the two of them. She could also be selfish, insisting that she would remain with Alistair when Wynne insisted that she should be willing to sacrifice it for the greater good and to avoid pain. Could any fault that in her? She had wanted the happy ending as surely as I.

I had watched with my mouth agape as Alistair had ended their affair in front of us shortly after the Landsmeet. One would assume my naiveté would have dissipated long ago in the face of the reality in which I lived. I had foolishly thought he would marry her, I had not known what being a Gray Warden entailed. Those details are left out of the tales as well. To be a Gray Warden meant sacrifice, but surely one must not have to sacrifice _everything_. As I saw the hopelessness in his eyes, eyes so much older than when we had begun, I could not bring myself to condemn him. He had to be selfless where she insisted on reasonable selfishness. When had he lost his innocence: was it all at once or by degrees? None of us were as innocent as we once were. This had been the cost of the greater good. We would always be steeped in blood, both that of others and our own.

Now we were thrust back to our poisoning passions and the blood was fast rising and boiling as it rose. The Chantry condemns blood magic, calling it evil. It is merely an echo of how the blood calls us all, the demons that demand our attention that we cannot blame upon the Fade. How weak we all are in our hubris.

The darkness was upon us, threatening to devour us and we were poised to fight one another, taking sides and sharpening our blades. We would sacrifice our best intentions to the blood thrumming in our ears, flushing our faces, filming the red haze in our eyes.

Only the Maker could redeem us now! Even in stories it is not unheard of for the Maker to intervene when mortals go astray.

"_Why do you remain silent when so much is at stake?"_ I demanded at the sky with a clenched fist of frustration. He had spoken to me once, imparting a vision of hopelessness if we could not rise above the darkness that threatened to crash upon us. He had punctuated it with a miracle of beauty, that there was still hope blooming for those willing to see it. How does one make others see when they are blinded by circumstance?

I was startled by a sudden whimpering and scratching at my door. Peering into the hallway, I was met by Valor's large, sorrowful eyes. The mabari was Elissa's dog and was her reliable shadow. Lately he had exhibited a partiality to Sten as well and the Qunari had taken to talking to him much as Elissa always did. The dog had tried to curry favor with Morrigan but was rebuffed and completely avoided Wynne since the mage had insisted on bathing him. Oghren had no patience for the noble beast, except when he considered turning the poor creature into his "mutt steed" and have him draw an elaborate dwarven chariot. (Oghren did not fare well with animals. He had more than once threatened to eat my pet nug, Schmooples. My pet had coincidently eventually decided to sneak into his tent and wee on his bedroll. Schmooples was smarter than some of the others realized.) With Alistair, since the Landsmeet, the dog had seemed warily distant, as if afraid to approach the troubled future king.

In all that time the dog neither showed me malice nor preference. I respected the animal for its courage and often found myself talking to him of my memories of Orlais and of Lady Cecile's dog, Bonbon. His response to such musings was to snort slightly as if saying, _"Silly woman, what would a war hound like I care for the foibles of a pampered Orlesian lapdog?" _Even if I flattered Valor, the dog would not treat me with anything but a thinly disguised disdain, particularly when I mentioned that I could describe him as _"gluttonous"_ since he constantly begged for scraps. I had not meant to offend since personally I found his begging endearing, but he refused to beg from me again.

Now I was faced with this troubled beast, his large eyes pleading. He knew and understood full well that things were not right. I was the one the animal turned to for help in the midst of this madness and I was as baffled as he. Fereldens revered their dogs for their intelligence, but they were blind at times to all else around them. If a dog could see what a mistake it was to proceed in this folly, why could no one else?

As I looked into Valor's eyes, I realized how small we seem to the Maker. We are intelligent beasts of instinct and yet we are allowed some moments of clarity. The Maker can work an epiphany in the mind of a man and speak to the heart of a dog.

Sometimes the Maker can speak through the least of us. At that moment I realized that sometimes the Maker needed help creating a sign that proud men would be willing read. Only the Maker could save the honor of proud men and only a woman could understand the importance of a man's face or a monster's head.


	12. Valor

_**Valor**_

It seemed a small thing….a gravely impossible small thing.

I could not ask Sten to stay his hand. I could not go to Alistair and ask him to remove his challenge. These men I loved and continue to love could not be reasoned with in the face of frightening folly. I had spilt blood with them, grieved with them, I strove to be my best for them and serve them as willingly as they served me. It should not have been so difficult to request a compromise, and yet I knew that they would not and I was relegated to mute helplessness.

For months I worked so diligently to gain control, create order out of chaos and enable a stronger Ferelden to emerge from the Blight. In less than a day it threatened to unravel and I was helpless. It came down to two men: a human king and a Qunari soldier. Our entire enterprise hinged on the outcome of a senseless duel and I was at the center, though I never intended to be.

In two hours we needed to march to Denerim, we are tarrying on trifles and yet we had to halt an end of the Blight for the throes of pride.

The courtyard was surrounded by soldiers from our army and the armies of our allies, waiting for what was to transpire. Due to the Maker's mercy, news of the duel spread slowly beyond the castle walls, certain squads continued to prepare, blissfully unaware of what was transpiring. If more had known, we would have been mobbed. There was enough of a crowd that more could not have been accommodated and still have held the duel. A circle of cobbles was kept clear at the center for the two opponents to meet and do battle.

Some dwarven soldiers stood close to the edge of this makeshift proving ground, drinking and making bets. One jabbered to another, "Who would have thought that humans would have had a proving right before a battle? Maybe we have more in common with these surfacers than we thought."

"My money's on the big one," his comrade grunted, taking another swill from a skin he was carrying with him.

"Eh," another belched, "the human king is a Warden. Any Gray Warden can fell a Qunari any day. Balls, I could fell a Qunari if given the opportunity."

"Oghren apparently agrees with you," the first conceded, "he is said to be the human king's second. A king that knows to have a dwarf for a second has my support."

They continued to bicker and speculate among themselves. I paced close to the stone stairs, waiting for the combatants to emerge, hoping one would decide to forego and end this insanity. Morrigan stood close to the portcullis that led out of the courtyard and into the countryside. She seemed to be nervously waiting for something, though trying to hide it beneath a careless demeanor. There was no ignoring the fact that she would periodically glance out the gate and down the road leading to the village, as if she expected an arrival, but I knew of nothing other than what was arranged to happen between Alistair and Sten.

A hush fell over the assemblage as the large oak doors from the castle opened with a crash and Alistair stepped forth in full armor, followed closely by a grinning Oghren and a solemn Wynne. The older mage had spent the past half hour organizing poultices and healing magic in the event of serious injury to either Alistair or Sten, but only after vainly trying to convince Alistair to call off the duel. He finally barred her from his room to prepare alone. He looked grim as he descended the steps to the waiting crowd. He neither waved nor acknowledged their presence, he merely looked consumed with thought and did not even grace me with a glance as he passed.

Shortly after, Sten also emerged from the castle. His head held high, he walked forward and entered the circle that had been hastily prepared. At his heel followed Zevran. As Sten took his place opposite to Alistair he cast me a meaningful look, a look that communicated his regret that this had come so far and I felt encouraged enough to approach him.

I made no move to touch him as I drew closer, afraid that any show of affection or familiarity would cause the tenuous peace to shatter, but I whispered softly so none could hear me but him, _"Sten, must you do this?"_

His eyes searched mine a moment before he determined to adjust the buckles on his gauntlets and replied, _"Kadan, if there were some other way I would take it. I am yours, but I am also a Qunari. I cannot yield to a challenge such as this and remain who I am. Would you have me be less, Kadan? For you I might consider it, but it would be death to me, a death so deep that I could not be revived and remain whole. I would be a shell."_

"_Asala,"_ I pleaded quietly, my chest tight as I called him something so personal that it could not be matched by any other word in my language, _"please reconsider. This could destroy everything."_

"_I would not have that."_ He confessed this with an ominous look, _"You have given me back my soul and offered me so much more. How could I repay such by destroying all that you have striven for in the time I have known you? I will not see your great work destroyed, but I cannot allow it to destroy me. If I did I would not be worthy enough to speak of you as my Kadan."_

My skin suddenly felt cold, _"What do you intend to do?"_

"_What I have to,"_ he reassured me thinly, _"but you must know, what I have had with you has been far more precious to me than my own life. I may die Qunari, but for a time I lived to be yours."_

With that, before I could make another reply, Zevran hastily ushered me away and walked me back to where I had been standing by the stairs, "He will not be dissuaded, Beya. You have awoken something that will not be quenched and it is at war with him."

"He does not plan to win…does he?" I felt broken as I spoke the words.

Zevran seemed to think a moment and lick his lips as if they were suddenly dry, "He will not kill Alistair, but he cannot live in dishonor. What little he would relate to me about such practices is that they are not undertaken lightly. One cannot live under the challenge of an arishok: in such cases one must die."

"Alistair did not know this when he challenged Sten," I argued, "it is not the same here among humans."

"It does not matter what Alistair intended, in Qunari custom, if you are challenged by an arishok, you must undergo the duel. The only way out is if the arishok releases his intended opponent and ends the duel." He clarified this looking very worried.

"If I explained this to Alistair, maybe he would relent," I offered.

"As soon as I realized how Sten had interpreted the duel, I tried to speak to Alistair and explain this to him," Zevran shook his head sadly, "and he slammed the door in my face."

I ground my teeth, "He will listen to me!"

"If Alistair dismisses the duel he will look weak in front of the men he is supposed to be helping to lead into battle. He will not allow his standing to be compromised. If this had remained quiet we might have been able to get out of this," Zevran argued back, before gesturing to the rest of the crowd pushing around us, "but with this there is no option of backing down without possibly losing respect."

Refusing to be deterred, I turned, but before I could approach Alistair, Oghren had entered the center of the circle with his arms raised, trying to get the attention of the amassed crowd and my heart sank. It was too late to do this with subtlety.

"Quiet, you sodding, nug-humping, dirt clods!" the dwarf bellowed and the crowd hushed once again to listen, "The honorable Alistair of the house of Therin has challenged this casteless Qunari, Sten, to a duel. They will fight until one falls. May the ancestors honor the victor!" There was a cheer, most of the noise coming from the dwarven spectators, though many of the other men present hooted, losing themselves in the moment.

Once he had finished, Oghren scurried back to Alistair's side and handed him his helmet. I had long enough to see that his jaw was tight before the metal concealed his visage entirely. He was no longer the smiling, gentle man I had known. He was trying to be the king I encouraged him to be and there was no longer an option to turn back, short of running in the center, shrieking at them to stop. That had the potential to diminish all of us and potentially announce to the world exactly what had happened the previous evening.

Suddenly there was an unnatural howl, just as both Alistair and Sten tensed to spring at each other and commence the duel. Everyone turned in the direction of the sound, coming from just beyond the gate, almost forgetting the men in the face of their curiosity. The clamor seemed to grow louder as the source of the uproar approached. Even Alistair and Sten lowered their weapons, startled and distracted by the din. Some of the men in the crowd placed hands on their swords or whatever weapon they had on hand, but those close to the gate and could more easily see what was transpiring moved back. As they parted, my mabari, Valor, bounded through the gate and past the gaping audience.

I had not thought him capable of such a sound, but he seemed to howl from somewhere within his bowels and the sound was desperate in its tone. In his jaws he carried the head of a dead ogre, dripping ichor from the stump that had been rudely severed from its body and ragged tendrils of what was once muscle dangled freely amid the gore. How Valor managed to continue to make the ghastly sound as he carried his monstrous burden I was not sure, but the soldiers present seemed visibly shaken.

Valor dropped the head in the center of the ring, freeing his jaws, and then proceeded to bark first at Alistair and then at Sten, almost in a scolding manner. Standing above his dire trophy, Valor seemed to be saying, _"This is our enemy! Have you forgotten?"_

After a moment, Leliana stepped out of the crowd, her head held high. Raising her voice she proclaimed, "This is a sign from our Maker. In our idiocy we have forgotten our purpose. This dog symbolizes the whole of Ferelden, a country that reveres and respects the intelligence and fierceness of this noble beast. The enemy is at the gates of the sacred city, the birthplace of the Bride. They wish to taint what is sacred. As this magnificent animal, we must go and destroy that which is profane. Come my brethren."

Leliana reached a hand to Alistair, beckoning him forward. For a moment he stood there, holding his sword, stunned, unsure of how to proceed, but he stepped forward. Removing his helmet he approached Valor and, after giving the mabari an affectionate pat on the head, he picked up the ogre's head from the ground and held it aloft so that the entire assembly could see it.

"The Maker will give us victory! Even in the face of my own pride, Andraste has ordained that this mabari remind us of the power of our people, with the help of our fierce allies. Without one another, we are like a dog without teeth. We cannot stand alone. Let us forget this foolishness and go forth, bringing vengeance upon the enemies that have poisoned our land." He bellowed this and all the men in the courtyard howled in approval, imitating the sound that Valor had made when he had first entered our midst.

"Come," Alistair called, turning his attention to Sten who stood at attention at the other side of the ring, "Sten of the Beresaad. You are a worthy opponent, but your strength and skill are wasted in such petty displays of power. Let us go together and spill the blood of our enemies. Let us honor both our countries by being warriors first!"

I could not see Sten's expression as it was concealed by his helmet, but he nodded his head, "As you wish, King of Ferelden. Today you have my arm."

"Today we fight," Alistair continued, addressing the crowd again, "for our Maker, for the Ancestors, for our pasts and our futures. We will not be defeated. Go, all of you, rally your comrades. We march for Denerim within the hour."

The men present shouted and streamed forth from the courtyard, going to call the others to arms and prepare for our march. In their haste and excitement they seemed oblivious to the group of us, our small band gathering together. Soon we were all alone as the echoes of preparation rang all the way to the village. Alistair looked at me a long moment and nodded his head, "A royal bastard must know his place, but a king even more so. I have wronged you and for that I ask your pardon."

I bowed my head to him, not trusting my voice to convey my thoughts sufficiently.

"Sten, you have been a true companion to all of us," Alistair continued, "and you have proven yourself a valiant warrior. I am satisfied. Please forgive my folly, comrade. I spoke in anger instead of sense. I have much to learn from your example." He extended his hand, as a token of friendship.

Sten removed his helm and considered Alistair's words before clasping his hand. The action did not convey friendship, but respect. Sten added, "I would have beaten you, but since I cannot rob this country of their king, I will be satisfied with dispatching darkspawn to appease my honor in battle."

"And you," Alistair ruffled the fur of Valor's head again with an air of playfulness, "you are wiser than I. Thank you for reminding me of what is important, though I think you had help…" the words trailed off as he cast a questioning eye to Leliana who smirked in reply.

"Come friends," said Wynne, with a clucking sound of her tongue, "we have little time to prepare."

Both Alistair and Sten went in separate directions. Alistair was accompanied by Wynne and Oghren, who sputtered in confusion and disappointment that the sport he had been planning had been ruined. Alistair reassured the irritated dwarf that there were plenty of darkspawn that needed felling and Oghren snorted gruffly in reply. Sten went to check our supplies and re-check his armor, heading to the blacksmith.

Once they were out of earshot, Zevran commented, "I thought you were merely going to get a darkspawn head. Far be it for me to quibble, but was not the ogre a tad much? You were almost late."

"I had taken Shale with me," Leliana explained, "and she felt that merely settling for any darkspawn would be anti-climactic. She insisted on finding an ogre. It took a little more time than anticipated."

"Sign from the Maker, huh?" I questioned, looking at the bard with a skewed eyebrow.

"It was the Maker's message," Leliana answered defensively, "it just needed a little help to be heard. He certainly cannot fault the results, I am sure."

Zevran shrugged, "I still do not understand how the dog made such a loud howling. It was worse than a demon from the Fade."

Leliana looked at Morrigan who shrugged her shoulders with an air of nonchalance, "If we had relied on the lung power of that mangy beast, no one would have heard it. I kept watch and as soon as I saw the dog coming I…assisted in helping him produce a sound that would grab the attention of the entire mass of foolish men. It was quite easy and wholly satisfying seeing their idiotic eyes pop with wonder."

I smiled, "Thank you, all of you. This could have been disasterous."

"What else can you expect from men and their reckless urges? I am just satisfied that those gathered did not opt to riot when Alistair called off the duel." Morrigan snorted with disgust.

"I am assuming you are not including me in your statement?" Zevran smiled ingratiatingly to the mage.

"No," Morrigan answered, turning on her heel to make her own arrangements for the battle, "you were included with all those other unwashed cretins."

"Thank you, Morrigan. I shall always remember your warmth!" Zevran called after her in mock approval, "Never change, oh Goddess of the Wilds!"

"Why do you bother baiting her like that?" I asked.

Zevran smiled wickedly, "I like to hear the sound of her pretty white teeth grinding. None of you have ever garnered such a reaction from her that I can recall. It is flattering to know that I can do something well."

Leliana brought my attention back to our situation, "This peace will last through the battle, but it may only be a temporary accord."

"We have an archdemon to face, Leli. If we fail in that, the only peace we can expect is that of death, for us and for all of Ferelden." I sighed, "Now we have a far better chance than when we were divided amongst ourselves."

"What of you and Sten?" Leliana asked almost timidly, her eyes troubled.

"There is no place for such questions now," I confuted, refusing to look at either her or Zevran.

I scratched Valor behind his ear and called him to heel as we left the courtyard. The head was left in the dust for another hand to remove and we returned our attention to Denerim.


	13. Beya

_**Beya***_

As the troops withdrew from Redcliffe, my dear Gray Warden seemed a different woman. She hid her heart somewhere beneath the gleam of her armor. She cast not a glance at either Alistair or her Qunari lover. It was as if she had taken the guise of Shale, a golem: gray, unyielding, and unfeeling.

All the others kept their distance, divided by varied allegiances and not desiring to ruffle her feathers. We no longer had a secluded or intimate camp, since we marched with an entire army of men, mages and dwarves. That enabled all the companions to hide amid the horde. She was a woman surrounded and yet, apart.

In the evenings she would walk among the tents of the men, speaking encouragement, asking names to go with the faces of the soldiers that followed her. Alistair noticed, for he took to imitating her example, though he was careful to do so separately and walked the opposite side of the encampment. Between the two of them, they garnered a certain respect from the men and women who loyally followed them.

I took to following at a distance, discreetly nonchalant so she would not take notice of my presence. Though she might not be aware of it, a public figure, even one as beloved and admired as she, should not be without a wary set of eyes – one to protect her wellbeing. My blades were ever ready to defend her, should she require it.

From assassin to bodyguard…how I have fallen.

During the days, we marched. It was not as she had walked before, with light steps, giddy conversation and a soft glance to her comrades. Her tread was heavy. A leaden heart does not allow for light feet. She trudged with eyes forward, scanning the road ahead and the sky became redder with each passing day. Nothing existed but that charred, ruined city at the end of the road.

After days of silence we were safely ahead of the prying eyes of the rest of the army, scouting to be sure we would not be ambushed by darkspawn. I presumed to walk beside her rather than behind and at a distance. It was not that I disliked the view from where I usually trailed. I doubted there were sculptors who could capture the peerless perfection of her well rounded backside, but this muted existence had gone on far too long. Besides, what good was such a view if I could not provide a commentary on it? So many words were going to waste. The poetry of my leering was being thoroughly ignored.

Let the others fear her wrath. I was not meant to live a long life. If I had to die, let it be on the hand that I loved so well. Had I not been brought to this frigid country, paid for in gold, for just such a purpose?

"Has anyone told you that you march like a goddess?"

The lovely confusion of her face as my words processed softened the features that had been sternly listless for days and I could not help but smirk as she suddenly sputtered, "Wha…what?"

"Ah," I sighed, "Eloquent as always. I missed your elegant turn of phrase, since you rarely speak to me since we left Redcliffe. I feel neglected and unloved. My manly emotions roil within my muscular chest… would you care to feel my chest? It quivers." I playfully snatched up her gauntleted hand and made to place it over my heart before she pulled it away in thinly veiled annoyance.

"Zevran, have you gone mad…?"

Pausing thoughtfully, I cocked my head before continuing, "Possibly…though I believe this is how I usually behave. Perhaps I have always been mad or maybe it is only since I have been in Ferelden. The aroma of wet dogs has perhaps unhinged my senses… but back to the marching. I had been completely unaware that goddesses marched. In my mind they only floated and gamboled naked on fluffy clouds. Oh, what they miss, the unrivalled perfection of each of your steps. The dainty women of Antiva would do best to imitate it. Even in armor you are sensually clattering across my poor heart. A goddess of war, ravaging all in her wake: Beya you are something to behold."

"Stop it, Zevran. I am leading an army. It is unseemly to carry on like this with you."

I pouted slightly, in a manner that would put Lelianna or Morrigan to shame, and wheedled, "Ah, so there_ is_ someone else you would prefer to carry on like this with. Do not hold back for fear of hurting my pride…"

"You are being ridiculous," she hissed, refusing to look at me, making her marching pace brisker.

"Beya," I chided, more seriously, "this is no good for you. You cannot continue like this. Go to our stoic friend this night and relieve some of your tension. I would offer to do it instead, but I remember how my advances have been scorned…though the offer is still open. I bought more massage oil from an apothecary in Redcliffe…it even smells like jasmine…or would you prefer strawberries?"

"We should not be discussing this. _Someone might hear you!"_ She was always so adorable when she growled. It was like a cat before it lunged and clawed your face off.

I shrugged, "What if someone did hear me? They would probably agree. Perhaps they would proposition you too, though not with my style, of course."

"Zevran," the tone when she spoke my name held a hint of danger that it had never held before, but there was something else… tears.

The traitorous tears coursed down her cheeks, but she remained facing forward. Her face tensed, eyes open, looking ahead and never at me.

"Have we become such strangers, Beya?" I whispered, "Do you care so much for what these soldiers think that you refuse to be honest with me? Do you care so little for yourself that you refuse to be honest with _yourself_?"

"Please Zevran," the voice pleaded more softly this time.

"Beya," I replied, "I_ love_ you. As impossible as it may seem to you, I mean it truly. It is killing me to see you like this. When it ended with Alistair it was bad enough, but you maintained a sense of yourself, you were the rose that closed its petals until the night chill passed. Once I had vainly hoped… but regardless, you discovered yourself again. Perhaps you found something better than what you had before. I do not presume to know of such things. You are withering now. It is destroying you. Go where you choose and damn the consequences. Our lives are short enough, Beya!"

"If it were just me, Zev…if it were only my life or my standing…but it is so much more, don't you see? Everything is hanging on my shoulders. One mistake and everything will be destroyed. Does anyone have the right to be so selfish?"

I grabbed her by the elbow and stopped her short, turning her to face me, "When have you _EVER_ been selfish, Beya? All of Ferelden has crawled onto your back and turned you into a turtle! You have a right to say, `no!' You have a right to say, `enough!'"

"Are you at all aware of what happened the last time I said, `no?'" She asked, voice dripping with venom.

Grateful that we were far enough advanced from the rest of the army that they would not hear us; I rubbed my eyes, "If you refer to what transpired with Morrigan, than yes. I am aware. If I had been given a similar choice as Sten I would have done the same. It was done out of a desire to save your life."

"You dare lecture me about saying, 'no,' and taking something for myself, but you admit that you would have taken that choice from me!"

"Must saying, `no,' mean death? Can there not be a place between? Can you find no satisfaction in living? Woman, you call me mad, yet it is _your_ sanity I question." I argued, "Let Alistair and Sten crucify themselves on their honor and obligations, if they feel it worthwhile. You deserve more. You have lost father, mother, innocence, freedom, love…what more could anyone ask for and remain reasonable?"

"You over simplify it, Zev!" she groaned.

"You, however, are overcomplicating it!" I countered.

"What do you want from me?" She demanded this in an explosion of radiant exasperation.

What else could I do? I grabbed her and kissed her, savoring her lips and the surprised gasp against my mouth. She was too startled to return my passion, but I did not care.

After a moment I stepped away from her and replied; "Now you may feel free to stab me or throttle me. It has been worth it. If we are destined to die in the end, I feel I should have one treasure to take with me to my grave. I want nothing else from you, Beya; your friendship has been enough. If the king or the Qunari wish to take issue with me, they will know where to find me after the battle. I am content." With that I resumed marching forward.

I could vaguely make out a discernible sputtering and muttering, but perhaps her anger was better spent directed at me than maintaining the numbness that had previously driven her forward. As her friend it was up to me to help her focus. If she needed to focus on her fury over my impertinence, then I was well qualified to receive it. Our lives would soon be eclipsed by blood and death when we reached Denerim, I would not waste a perfectly good road brooding over it.

That evening I resumed my self-claimed duties as bodyguard while she made her usual rounds among the tents of the soldiers. She seemed less stiff and more animated while I observed her from a safe distance.

Could either Alistair or Sten have done so much for her at this time of her need while they had rendered themselves impotent with their jealousies and guilt?

Perhaps I could claim that as a small victory as I smirked from the shadows, watching her with a loyal longing that would never be sated by blood or lust.

* * *

_*"Beya" is a phonetic pronunciation of the Spanish word, "Bella," which means "Beauty."_


	14. Mastery

_**Mastery**_

_Flesh creatures_…they are so complicated.

It had come to my attention that affections developed between the Gray Warden and the Qunari. These affections resulted in the other Gray Warden challenging the Qunari to a duel. I saw it as a futile endeavor since the Qunari was far superior in strength, but the Sister came to me and said that the Qunari would die if the duel was permitted.

If I had been a flesh creature, I might have been tempted to laugh.

Then the Sister spoke of the honor of men…how such things could tempt them to, "wander into folly." I was aware of the Qunari's sense of honor. For such a thing he might have been tempted to throw away his life needlessly.

I deemed that to be unacceptable.

We wandered the woods beyond the village of Redcliffe, searching for darkspawn, trying to find a suitable head for the Sister's little ruse that would prevent the destruction of the Qunari. The dog followed at our heels, panting and yapping at every sound until we finally found the putrid beasts.

I suspect that something in me is flawed. Perhaps there are some adverse effects to the loss of my control rod. I ran at the darkspawn, howling, swinging, smashing, tearing them to pieces. When the struggle was over, there was little left. The Sister had not even had the opportunity to draw her daggers or even dirty herself with their blood.

"Thank you, Shale," she enthused, "now we can gather one of the heads and have Valor interrupt the duel with it."

"No!" I insisted, "There are no acceptable heads here."

"Surely one of these will do," she replied.

"No. If I am to be involved in this, I will not accept a mediocre head to be brought before that gathering of flesh creatures. It must be a big one: one that will cause the flesh creatures to pause and soil themselves! I am no such flesh creature to be appeased by minimal effort. The Qunari said I was a superior construct. I will provide a superior head."

"But Shale…" The Sister had begun to argue, her pale forehead wrinkled in confusion.

I shook my head, "It must be an ogre. I will not allow anything less!"

I tore into the trees again, certain there had to be an ogre nearby. After an hour of pursuit, I discovered my quarry. It roared, saliva drooling from its mouth and its white eyes trained upon me. I slammed into its chest and throttled it with my stony fists, crushing its ribs, smashing its throbbing heart, blind of all but the need to destroy it so I could harvest its head.

Once I had claimed my prize, unceremoniously ripping it from the corpse, the Sister had a queer expression.

"Shale…are you well?"

"Has the Sister forgotten that I am made of stone?" I replied hollowly, "I feel nothing. I can neither be well nor unwell."

She looked at me another long moment before replying, "Thank you, Shale. This is truly a superior head!"

"Of course it is," I agreed, tossing the head to the dog. The animal dutifully retrieved it in its jaws and followed the Sister as she ran back toward Redcliffe Castle.

I stood, surrounded by the corpses of the filthy beasts that I had pummeled. Contrary to what I had told the Sister, I felt a distinct disquiet.

I had aided in a ruse to protect the life of a flesh creature that I valued. He and I shared an understanding, a camaraderie that I could not classify into distinct words. He was strong, single minded, quiet, articulate and saw me as an equal. I found him easy to converse with, unlike the other creatures who prattled and never truly listened or understood.

He called me, "Kadan."

I had never requested a clarification of the word. I had never required one. The fact that he used it pleased me in a way that was difficult to fathom. It made me distinct…special.

Then he began calling the Gray Warden, "Kadan."

It was the same name, but it was not spoken the same. The voice behind it had a different quality. The word, "Kadan," when used in reference to me sounded cheap in comparison, a cast off.

For the first time since I had discovered my origin, I actually considered the Shale I once was: the fleshy female dwarf. Did she ever love? Did she feel once as I felt at that moment? Was she driven to protect someone out of such deep emotions that were now baffling to me?

Love was a weakness…a weakness of flesh creatures. I was no longer a flesh creature. I had not been a flesh creature in a long time and could no longer remember what it was like to be a flesh creature. I was not fragile and squishy, with squishy emotions to match…

…and yet such thoughts caused an echo of a memory…

…Caridin, the dwarven man, bent over a forge, puffing intently as he swung a hammer over glowing metal. He turned to look at me and I felt something forgotten and familiar. I had believed in him, but it was more than that…

The memory frightened me and I buried it away, deep within my core. He was dead and the Shale I once was no longer existed.

The Shale I was now would live forever.

I discovered what an empty thing it was – living forever.

Eventually the Qunari would die, and I would be unable to prevent it.

I would never die.

Suddenly I was alone. I had always been alone, but it was only then that I truly felt it.

After the ruse was successful and the army marched toward Denerim, I followed. I saw no other alternative.

Once the Qunari had accused me of acting like a possession and when I had argued that the control rod had been broken he had retorted, "It is still in your heart."

Those words had hurt, even though I was stone. They hurt even more now, even though he had long ago apologized for them, because the truth was still there. There was indeed still a control rod within me and it did control me, though in subtle ways.

He was unaware that the one wielding the control was him.

As the army drew closer to our destination, I felt something within me straining. I watched him from a distance. I watched as he glanced at the Gray Warden with a longing in his eyes, but he refrained from approaching her. He had a control rod within him too, but he had mastered it. It was also obvious that he had found no joy in his mastery.

On the eve of battle, when considering the end of all that I had become aware of in the passage of a week, I came to a conclusion.

Whether these fleshy creatures survived or not, I could not continue on in this fashion.

I approached the tent of the Elder Mage. She was grinding plants with a mortar and pestle, the action making a scraping sound. I stood by patiently as she finished the task and proceeded to empty the crushed remnants of the plant into a pouch. When she had secured it she finally looked at me, as if only just becoming aware of my presence, "Shale? I am surprised to see you. Is there something you require?"

"I have a boon to ask of you, Elder Mage," I intoned solemnly.

My words caused her to cringe slightly. She had developed a distaste for my usage of the term, "Elder Mage." However, she prompted after a pause, "What aid can I provide you, Shale?"

"I wish to regain my mortality."

The Elder Mage became very quiet, staring at me with a blank expression before inquiring, "Why would you wish such a thing?"

"I once thought I understood my place," I tried to explain, "and now I am unsure. I am a broken golem. There is no purpose for a broken golem. I do not need to live forever and I no longer wish to live forever. For better or worse, something within me drives me to seek what I have lost. I do not wish to continue alone."

The Elder Mage closed her eyes and for a moment I feared she would dismiss me. She was the only one who might know how to help me and I trusted her. Without her I saw no other option. When her eyes opened again, they looked at me softly, "I fear that such a thing is beyond my art at this time, Shale."

"Then I need not bother you further," I replied, my words edged with regret as I turned to go.

"Wait," she commanded, preventing me from leaving, "there may be a way to find a way to return your mortality. In Tevinter there are mages that have experience that may help you. If this is what you truly wish, I will accompany you once the chaos in Denerim has settled. When this threat has been resolved and Alistair's kingship has been solidly established, we will depart. This I promise you, Shale."

Had I been a flesh creature, I would have been tempted to say my heart was fit to burst.

Golem's do not have hearts…

…and I wished to discover my own.

That night, I stood at a distance and watched as the Gray Warden approached the tent of the Qunari, quietly slipping between the flaps like a shadow. She did not leave again until shortly before daybreak, quietly stealing back to her own tent to prepare for the battle we would meet that day.

I nodded to myself, knowing that it was as it should be.

"Well, Rival Kadan," I mused to myself, "we feel truly, you and I. You must be as superior a construct as I, for I will accept no less if we are destined to share that title."

With that, I allowed myself to embrace peace and resolved to meet the day with the best of my ability, unhindered by my heart. I was master.


	15. Talan

_Talan*_

"_Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun."*_

"Who will speak for me when I am dead? Who will speak for me if I die here?" I muttered to myself as I sat in my tent, trying to focus on my meditation.

The skies over the capital are blood red with fire this night and in the distance I can hear the cries of darkspawn. Tomorrow there will be battle. Tomorrow will decide…

This is the first time since my brethren have fallen that I have allowed myself to dwell on them, and it shames me. Once I was one with them: we fought as one, we should have fallen as one. Yet I survived and persisted in surviving. Perhaps the morrow will rectify that fracture. I speak the words for them that should have long since been spoken.

"_Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun."**_

Chanting the words, over and over again, brought me some measure of peace. It reminded me of when I last spoke the words. I was in the cage in Lothering, waiting for the darkspawn to come and take me. It was then that I saw my Kadan, though I knew her not.

People had stopped at the cage before her. Some had looked disgusted, while others seemed frightened. One man threw rotten vegetables, laughing because I could not retaliate and exhibited no desire to do so.

She came to the cage with her companions: the future King of Ferelden, the mage and the Chantry Sister. When she stood before the cage her eyes were soft and puzzled. While the others discussed me and bickered, she spoke to me. To her I was not a thing, but a man.

So many days had passed since and I was whole again, but so conflicted. She had returned my Asala to me, and I had mistakenly thought I was whole then.

I had kept my distance since we had left Redcliffe. I would watch her in the evenings, walking among the soldiers. When they looked on her, I wondered if they saw her much as I had once. She seemed a combination of vulnerability and strong reserve. With each glance I could see she was aware of their mortality and their lives were on her shoulders.

It is not an easy burden. She carried me as surely as they and I was larger than any human man.

Once I had worried what would happen if she had died and it had driven me to make a pact with the mage. It almost resulted in a duel with the future King of Ferelden. The thought of her life ending had rattled me to my core.

On that night, on the eve of battle, I was forced to consider what would happen to her if I died. She carried so many dead with her. Would I be another to haunt her dreams?

The night we became one, I had felt her in my arms, sleeping. Many other nights I had seen her toss and worry, calling for her parents. She had peace with me, as I had peace with her. I knew that the loss of me would mar that peace and in a way I had done her irreparable harm.

"_Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra…"_

"Asala?" she whispered through the gap without entering, breaking me from my prayers.

"Kadan," I replied, and that was all the invitation she required. She gingerly crawled through the opening, entering the tent while I sat cross legged upon my bedroll. The tent was small and she was nearly in my lap so that both of us would fit.

Taking her small hand in my own, I absently traced the lines of her palm with my fingertips. Her breath caught and I ventured to look in her eyes, "It is hard to remain apart from you, Kadan."

"I know," she agreed, "Your absence has tugged at me, but I was unsure of how to break the silence. If things could have been different…"

"If things had been different, the Arishok would never have sent me. I would still be in Seheron, in comfortable obliviousness. Comfort always seems to be hard won with you. Perhaps comfort will never be an option, regardless of what happens on the morrow. If the battle is won…"

She interrupted, _"Anaan esaam Qun?"_

I could not help but smile wryly, "Perhaps… I am surprised you remember. _Victory is in the Qun._"

"I am sorry that I interrupted your chant. I recall you speaking it before when we were in Lothering and I do not understand most of what you said, but I was able to decipher that piece of the language."

"You would like the middle piece of the prayer: _Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun._" I offered.

"What does it mean?" she inquired, settling herself to mirror my pose, leaning her forehead onto my own, looking deeply into my eyes.

"_The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless."_

She closed her eyes a moment, savoring the words, committing them to memory. Looking into her face, so open and trusting, it wrung my heart, "Kadan, why are you in my tent?" The question was intended to be flat, but came out husky and she opened her eyes. The brown depths were soft, much as they were when I first saw them, but there was something more. They held a light that was meant only for me.

"The darkspawn and the archdemon are too close. Their whispers will not permit me rest. Here with you, I have peace. You are my sea." She explained.

Shaking my head mournfully, I admitted, "If only that were true, Kadan. Since that night… I am not as certain as I once was. The Qun still calls me, and yet I am equally yours. I am not the man you released from the cage in Lothering. It is difficult for me to resolve my place in this country. I am struggling to resolve my faith with my feelings for you."

"I am sorry, Sten." She breathed, lowering her head slightly, "I have caused you harm. I did not mean to..."

Lifting her chin gently, I was graced with her eyes again, though slightly teary and it made my heart swell, "_Thank you_ for the injury, Kadan. May I bear its scars forever with all my other honorable wounds."

She blinked, "Are you…teasing me?"

"Never, Kadan," I reassured her, placing a chaste kiss upon her lips, "I am in earnest."

"You can say that, knowing we may die tomorrow?" she choked, baffled.

I grazed my knuckles tenderly down her cheek, "I cannot say what will happen tomorrow. I need not borrow its trouble to claim as my own. If I die tomorrow, it will be at your side. That is enough for me."

Oddly enough, these statements satisfied me. I had spent so long tormenting myself with questions of the future and fretting for the Qun, that I cheated myself of my time with her. If we died tomorrow, my destiny would be fulfilled and concerns of the Qun would be irrelevant.

She kissed me then, twining her arms around my neck. I cradled her against me, groaning into her mouth before our embrace became heated. Her lips strayed all over my face and throat, her hands caressing and encouraging my ardor. I leaned back, allowing her to straddle me, enjoying the comfort of her weight above me. My fingers ran down her back, gliding over her muscles, gripping her closer to me.

Surrendering to the uncertainty, I had resolved to embrace her. That night I was not needed as a Sten, I was needed as a man by the woman I loved. She carried enough, and I had the power to ease her burden, if only for a single night.

This was my Truth.

* * *

*Talan: Truth

**_"Shok ebasit hissra. Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun. Maraas shokra. Anaan esaam Qun_." : "Struggle is an illusion. The tide rises, the tide falls, but the sea is changeless. There is nothing to struggle against. Victory is in the Qun."


	16. Enough

**_Enough_**

I had enough of loneliness, stoicism, self-loathing, self-doubt, regret…

I had had ENOUGH!

Straddling Sten, feeling his chest rise and fall, moving with his breath, I knew what I wanted. I wanted to consume him, breathe him, and be one with him. The want thrummed feverishly across every inch of my skin as his hands journeyed over me. The feelings that I had tamped down and numbed out of a sense of obligation during our march on Denerim began to reignite.

Our first time together had been punctuated with uncertainty and a reserve, clumsily trying to find common ground. This time we moved in chorus, relishing the closeness, washing away the ache of our self-imposed separation.

He swept his hands up my sides, pulling away the cloth of my tunic, exposing my breasts harnessed in the breast band. Peeling down the band, he raised goose bumps on my flesh in anticipation. As he cupped each mound in his hands, he massaged them, causing me to growl, grinding my teeth with a combination of pleasure and frustration. The sound caused his eyebrow to skew slightly, "You sound like the Dog when I have noticed you scratching a particular spot behind his ear."

I groaned, leaning down to kiss him before whispering, "You have no idea how addled you are making me. At this rate I may be howling like Valor before we are done."

"That sounds like a challenge," he smirked slightly, as only a stoic Qunari can.

"No, Asala," I murmured, "that was a promise."

In reply he grabbed me by the rump, grinding me close to him, taking my mouth in a kiss that was near bruising. Our teeth clicked slightly on contact, but I returned the passion. I ran my fingers through his braids, grazing his scalp lightly with my nails and it was his turn to growl in response, pulling away from the kiss long enough to suck on my neck and I could feel it raising a welt.

"Kadan, I still worry I will injure you," he admitted against that tender spot on my neck, "but I am so desperate to be one with you. I tire of my control." His breathing was ragged, and it echoed my own gasping.

"Do you trust me?" my question was gasped, but held an edge of sharp desperation.

"Yes," he rasped in return.

I framed his face with my hands, tilting his head to look into his expressive eyes, "Sten of the Beresaad, do you want this?" To punctuate my point, I ground my hips against him, feeling him swell in response.

"Only you, with every breath, until death takes me," he growled. Though the words sounded rough, the eyes held the tenderness he had shown our first time. He would always walk a fine line in his ardor with me and yet I wanted to give him the abandon.

"I tire of control as well," I concurred, "but I know you will not hurt me. I want you and I need you as you are. Warrior, lover, friend…you are the fire of my blood."

I kissed him deeply again before desperately yanking at his tunic in renewed haste, pulling it over his head as he lifted his arms so I could expose more of him to rub against me. His arms enveloping me, creating a delicious pressure against my torso, not quite bruising but solid, he scraped his teeth against my shoulder. His mouth was hot and hungry against my skin, nipping, lowering to my breasts, propping them up against his own chest so he could have a better reach. The moistness of his tongue caressing the skin caused me to moan.

When I could not bear it anymore, I wriggled my arms free and carefully adjusted my weight so that I could push him onto his back again. He hissed in displeasure as I rolled off him, but I ran my hands down his thighs, peeling his leggings and small clothes off his body. His muscled magnificence was as eager for me as I was for him. Trailing myself against him, I returned to my previous spot just above his hips.

He pinched my leg, gathering some of the cloth between his fingers, "Are we equals in all things, Kadan?"

"Of course," I grinned, willing my heart to slow, but hearing the pulse in my ears instead.

"Then this needs to be rectified," he insisted, pulling the fabric more tightly against my thighs. The pressure of it against the skin caused my stomach to roil slightly.

I leaned down until our noses touched and teased him, "What would you command?"

There was a sudden tearing sound as I felt the seams of the pants give and the cloth yanked from my body, "I do not waste breath with commands. You are not my soldier, but my heart. I had spared the leggings once for the sake of logic. At this time, I am beyond the bounds of such things. All I know is need and you are the source to slake it."

He rolled then, pinning me to the ground, pulling away what was left of my leggings, rubbing against me with each movement and it was intoxicating. I ran my nails down his back and he arched in response, grinding against me. He gritted his teeth before whispering into my ear, "Only you could bring me to the brink and yet I pause."

I could feel his erection pressing against my thigh, its pulse echoing my own. Twisting my neck, I brought my lips to his throat and sucked much as he had done, creating a red welt to match my own against his skin, marking him as mine and identifying his bond to me. As he moaned, I teased, "Tomorrow the men will see these marks and suspect that we did not sleep this night."

"Then we must make it worthy of their suspicions," he concurred, allowing a smile before lowering his head to my lips again. His hand ran down my torso and rested at the jointure of my legs before suddenly hooking a probing finger into my heat, "and you are ready for my attention."

His actions had robbed me of my breath for a moment and I squeaked, "You certainly have my attention, _completely_."

Taking my lips again, he kissed me, thrusting his tongue between my teeth. It danced with my own as his fingers caressed me, his mouth muffling my whimpers. The pleasure seemed to squeeze my lungs, making it hard to breathe and I squirmed beneath Sten's reassuring weight.

After a time, I could not withstand his teasing ministrations. Near mad with desire, it was my turn to roll him onto his back again, which he allowed. I groaned, "You move too slow for my tastes, this night."

"Perhaps you should teach me the pace you prefer, Kadan," he suggested, the words sounding logical and controlled until the grinding of my hips made _"Kadan" _sound more guttural in tone.

Wrapping my fingers around him, I guided him home, making us one again. In spite of our desire and our haste to reach the winding spring of our release, the joining again was so strong; we seemed to simultaneously pause to savor the rightness of it. His largeness stretched me, but from the angle of my perch I could adjust the depth and still enjoy the fullness of him within me. I began to move, feeling him slide within, beginning to build the tension.

Sten angled himself into a sitting position to cradle my body as I rode him, bracing himself with one hand against the ground, the other reached to grip one of my breasts as it dangled and danced with my increasingly frantic movements. Even beneath me, he rocked slightly to meet my motions. As the grinding turned to bouncing, he held himself up with the muscles in his stomach and gripped my hips in his hands, guiding me into harder strokes. The wet sucking sounds of our lovemaking and the panting of our breath, his grunting and my whimpers becoming a keening call, the walls of the tent fluttering with our sounds as most of the camp around us tried to sleep, it all reached an explosive pitch as the peak of our pleasure carried us beyond coherent thought.

I felt liquid, boneless, as I collapsed onto his chest and his arms moved to gently roll me to his side, lowering me to the ground, my head pillowed by his bicep. He tenderly kissed my forehead and pulled his thin blanket over us. Our closeness and the musky smell of our lovemaking was comforting, it lulled me and I felt my eyes grow heavy, though I had been certain I would not sleep.

As if reading my mind, Sten said, _"Maaras shokra, Kadan_. Rest sound! Not even an archdemon could wrest us from slumber now. We must be strong for the morrow. I am here."

With that, I drifted to a dreamless oblivion, knowing that Sten spoke true.


	17. Ardent

_**Ardent**_

Standing within sight of Denerim, my heart felt lodged in my throat. Smoke was rising form the walls of the city and open flames were visible at points of the interior. Darkspawn were congregating and milling about beyond the gates. Looking down the slope I felt near to wretching.

I looked over at Elissa in her armor, her helmet gripped in her hand so that she could have a clearer view. Some stray tendrils of her chestnut hair dangled near her temples in the hot wind blowing up from the city, carrying the reek of darkspawn. In her eyes I saw the same ache that I felt: all this destruction, this chaos.

I recalled what I had felt looking over the ruins of Ostagar not more than a month ago, when we had retrieved Duncan's sword and dagger and we burned what was left of King Cailan, reclaiming his remains from the mockery the darkspawn had made of his corpse. As hideous as that felt, this was worse.

Despite Eamon's insistence that it would solidify my standing and serve as a symbol, I refused to wear Cailan's armor or carry King Maric's sword. Those men were nothing to me but ghosts of familial ties that never extended to include me. I respected and honored them as kings, rulers who came before me, but I was not of them.

Strapped to my back was Duncan's shield, a winged griffon blazoned across it. Regardless of blood, he was the one I recognized as a father, he was my forebear and I was his progeny. His memory is what armored me in that moment and steeled my resolve. Drawing his sword into my hand, I squeezed the grip, willing away any fear that festered beneath my surface.

Forgetting Maric, forgetting Cailan, complete strangers whose blood ran in my veins, I called forth an image of Duncan in my mind's eye. King or no, I was a Warden first, despite a twist of Fate that placed a crown on my brow.

Turning from the ruined city, I gazed on the sea of men and women who followed me. Some of their faces blanched and turned sickly at the panorama before them. They too were frightened. They too stood to lose much should we fail, yet they came, trusting us to make right this travesty.

What would Duncan of spoken to us? I had been in the Tower of Ishal with Elissa before the battle began at Ostagar. I was not there when he spoke the words to bolster my now fallen brethren before they were wiped out. It would not have been Cailan's words that the Grey Wardens would have carried in that hopeless, final hour, it would have been Duncan's words.

I was never adept at speaking. I had allowed Elissa to speak to the defenders at Redcliffe on the night when the dead walked and attacked. She had always been a combination of candid and profound and people understood her. Men would have followed her to the Black Gates if she asked them to…

…Maker's Breath, I knew this full well because I was one of them.

She looked at me then, nodded once, and I understood what I had to do. If she had stepped forward to address the army in that moment, I would have let her. I would have listened, hanging on her every word as every other man there, but I was not every other man, not anymore. Something shifted within me and it became clear.

In that moment I embraced the king I wanted to be and found the voice to address the army that stood with me. These men who stood before me were my brethren now, not my subjects, and I refused to have them meet Death in silence.

Running onto a platform of a nearby windmill, I exhorted them ardently, "Before us stands the might of the darkspawn horde. Gaze upon them now but fear them not."**

As I cast a glance to Elissa in those moments, I was struck by how strong she was, how much she had survived. It was the way she inspired me that enabled me to speak and the words tumbled forth. However, the most inspiring thing about her was that she was like the rest of us. She was not a distant, hollow ideal, but a woman. The fact that she was there validated the strength and resilience present in all who gathered with us.

"Today we save Denerim!" For once I believed it when I spoke it. She was not going to save us, _we had to come together to save ourselves._ This burden did not belong to one person alone, for one person could never do this alone. That had been the whole point of the Grey Wardens, that is why we had been taught to never seek power or self-promotion, lest we come to believe that we were singular and could do it alone. We were meant to offer aid and help others to withstand the destruction, to renew hope. We were called to serve.

"But most of all, today we show the Grey Wardens we remember and honor their sacrifice…"

With those words I vowed within myself to carry my fallen comrades with me, not as a burden or as an excuse, but as an inspiration. I would fight _with_ my men, not for them, nor would I allow them to fight for me. We would stand together.

"For Ferelden! For the Grey Wardens!"

The words became a battle shout, echoed by every man on the field. Raising my sword, I lead the charge on the walls allowing the slope of the hill to build my momentum until I struck the first darkspawn like a boulder. The creature flew back from the force of the blow, its head hitting the ground before the rest of its body, like an oddly shaped ball.

_"That was for Duncan," _I hissed softly through clenched teeth before swinging at the next, _"and that was for Conall."_

The next one came at me with an battle-axe and stood a head taller than I, but he hit the ground harder than the other two, _"…and that was for Borin."_

_"That was for Eckart…"_ I gritted as my sword burst through the back of a genlock.

I cleaved a shriek in twain, _"That was for Simon…"_

_ "…and that was for Gerard…"_

_ "I will not forget you Anselm…"_

_ "Forwin, you tough bastard, I took down two for you…"_

_ "…that was for you Martin…"_

_ "Padraic, I will light a candle for you in Denerim's Chantry, even if I have to massacre thousands of these monsters to do it…"_

_ "I will not forget…"_

_ "…this is for you…"_

_ "…I fixed that hole in my guard like you taught me…"_

_ "…right in the eye, just like you said…"_

_ "…you always laughed when things looked bleak, you would probably be laughing now…"_

_ "Thank you…"_

_ "…I promise…"_

_ "…I swear…"_

_ "…Dear Maker…"_

_ "…never let me forget…"_

_ "This is for you…"_

_ "…all of you…"_

I was hardly cognizant when we reached the inside of the first wall, beyond lay the main gates into the Alienage. The grounds were littered with rubble and bodies: both men and darkspawn strewn and bleeding.

"Boy, you fight like a berserker…only more exact," enthused Oghren, clapping me on my side where he could reach.

"No," I panted, suddenly feeling simultaneously empty and full, "I fight like a Warden."

"A bloody mad and pissed one…" Oghren insisted and I shrugged.

As darkspawn pulled back, allowing for a lull in the battle, Riordan called us to him. Addressing Elissa, he advised her to take a small group into the city to deal with the darkspawn's generals and be prepared to attack the archdemon if necessary. Fort Drakon was the highest point in the city, so that was to be the probable rallying point for the Horde.

I had expected Elissa to take Sten with her. His presence made sense, but when she chose both Morrigan and I to accompany as well, it struck me dumb. Even after all that had happened, she trusted us to have her back. She wanted us to be with her.

While she said her final farewells to the others, I extended my hand to Sten, "You have my confidence, Qunari."

For a moment he stared at my hand in that inscrutable way of his. His jaw was tense and his features were hard. I half expected him to take off my head, but he finally clasped my hand, "I will strive to be worthy of what you have bestowed, Warden."

"Will you not seal your new found brotherhood with a kiss?" Morrigan taunted from where she stood.

I had not a moment to respond before Elissa ordered, "Come, it will be a difficult journey cutting our way through to Fort Drakon." She shouted this over her shoulder as she ran for the gates with Morrigan following at her heels and the assembled men cheering her on.

"I loathe that bitch!" I muttered as I ran to catch them.

"Agreed!" Sten answered tersely.

* * *

**The language of the speech to the army came directly from Alistair's speech in the game.


	18. Conflicted

_Conflicted_

The Wilds are clean.

As soon as I was able, I would return to the Wilds, away from the smoke and rubble of a ruined city that I cared nothing for and have my child. He would be raised to know nothing of this chaos and corruption. His purity would be maintained…

The conscious thought that the child would be a boy startled me, almost causing me to stop short as we ran through the winding alleys of the Alienage. To cover it I feigned a stumbled and Elissa reached out a hand to steady me at the elbow, forcing a pause, "Are you alright, Morrigan? Should you be doing this?"

Even as the city smoldered around us, she seemed genuinely concerned for me. Her eyes hastily glanced over me to discern injuries or physical fatigue.

"I am well," I snorted, "but if you must worry, worry for those lumbering louts you chose to accompany us lest they become lost."

_"Pay her no heed. She merely worries for if any injury befalls you, she might lose her guarantee,"_ I inwardly told myself, though I knew it was a deception I was trying to embrace in order to assuage my own guilt. If she did not care, she would not ask. She did not waste words on those she deemed worthless. There was no guile to Elissa.

"Be careful, Morrigan," warned Alistair pointedly, "we would not want you to break your neck or turn your ankle."

I retorted casually, "Your goodwill overwhelms me, your Majesty."

"Pashara!" growled the Qunari, "Vent your bile later!"

Alistair nodded his head meekly, visibly chastened, "You are right. The presence of so many darkspawn is making me edgy. We have yet to locate the first general Riordan warned us about. I can differentiate between the Archdemon and the other darkspawn, but the generals are not so easy to pinpoint. Duncan never told me anything about generals when he was training me, but if Riordan is to have the best chance to defeat the Archdemon with the least amount of resistance we must destroy the generals."

"We will get to the bridge and through the portcullis leading out of the Alienage to get to the Market district. Stay close and perhaps…" Elissa was interrupted by a shout. An elf ran forward, a bow slung to her back, eying us in shock.

"It's you!" she exclaimed, her red hair matching the scarlet tinged sky.

Elissa nodded, seeming surprised as well, "Shianni…isn't it? How are you still here? Is there anyone else?"

"We evacuated people to the sewers," the elven woman explained, "they let out beyond the castle walls and offered the best chance of escape for the children and the elderly. We were left behind to cover them. Someone in the Market district, some nobles I would expect, closed the Alienage portcullis. They probably figured it would make their escape easier if they did not have to fight with us to get through the gates and out of the city. It might have been the best thing they could have done for us since it limited the darkspawn movements into the Alienage and bought us the time we needed to get people out. We are the last…"

Then there was a thumping that seemed to grow louder and more urgent, we all turned toward the direction of a large, rickety set of gates at the mouth of the Alienage, located just before the bridge to the main portcullis into Denerim's market. The slats shivered and quaked as something insistently slammed into them, causing the hinges to bow out with the force of the blows.

"Run!" the elven woman shrieked as the wood splintered and gave way. An ogre stomped through, cracking the broken planks under his feet before giving a bellowing howl.

I could feel my hair stand on end at the nape of my neck and the magic seemed to automatically fill my fingertips without a thought. The power came in a wave, exploding just ahead of Elissa as she ran, her twin blades drawn and poised to strike the creature at its calves and hobble it while it was dazed by my magic. Alistair and the Qunari were only a length behind her, the larger man swinging a graceful arch with his weapon, striking between the shoulders of the beast.

We worked together in chorus and our actions had a terrible beauty. We did not need to speak, for Elissa only needed to glance or nod to us and we knew what she desired, fulfilling her every silent command. For today we were one and our movements created a harmony among us that could not exist in peace, when we were mindful of the boundaries we carefully tended. War is a simultaneously vicious and tender equalizer.

* * *

Much of the city was a blur of struggling, roars of plaintive beasts before they were cut down, the hot rushing wind behind exploding magic and flames, the tingling sensation of power as it released, seemingly from my very pores. It was all sound and prickling nerves for me until I found myself gasping and near to keeling over from the endless sapping of my reserves. I was near senseless with exhaustion as we stood before the large doors of Fort Drakon, a swath of dead beasts stretching back along our route through the city.

A hand steadied me, lowering me to the ground. It took me a moment to be sensible of who it was.

"Easy," Alistair cautioned with a gentle voice. He began rifling through a small pouch of provisions, looking for an injury kit and bandages that Wynne had given him, "That shriek sliced right through your barrier."

I gaped at him, confused, muddled, trying to make sense of the words.

Seeing me agog, he pointed to a wound on my shoulder I had been unaware of and offered, "You are bleeding, or didn't you notice?"

He did not wait for a reply, but proceeded to tend the injury, carefully cleansing and treating it. I could do nothing but sit and stare at him. The wound itself began to throb and sting, but the true heat was in my cheeks. An unrecognizable emotion made my chest tight. He had just finished his ministrations when I struck him on the shoulder with an open palm. Losing balance, he fell onto his backside from his crouch beside me. He looked startled as I edged away from him and struggled back to my feet.

"Did I _request_ aid?" I demanded huffily, "Do you not think me capable of tending myself? Must you interfere where you are unwanted?"

He stared at me a long moment before shaking his head and wordlessly gathering his healing supplies, tucking them back into the pouch. Sten came forward from where he had been resting, observing the entire exchange, and silently offered Alistair a hand up. Elissa was oblivious to us all, studying the apex of the tower.

"There is a larger gathering of darkspawn congregating just beyond us in the courtyard," Alistair informed her, jerking his head in the direction of the doors, "I can feel them waiting, milling about. It will be difficult to fight through them to get into the Tower."

"There are no other entrances," Sten intoned.

"Then we have no other choice. We must push through all resistance in the courtyard. The Archdemon crashed down there after Riordan winged him. He had been so close…" Elissa muttered, remembering the sight of the elder Grey Warden as he fell to the city flagstones like a doomed comet.

"It is better for us that we have a target that can no longer fly," Sten offered dispassionately.

"I know," she acquiesced, solemnly unsheathing her blades in preparation for the next assault and Alistair nodded grimly, communicating he was ready for what lay ahead.

We entered the courtyard and fought through. I stood behind the three warriors, casting, calling the magic to me. As the blood flowed over the ground and I felt my power flag again, the old temptation tugged at me. How easy it would be to use what pooled so close at hand. Never had I been so plagued with exhaustion. Flemeth had groomed me for this, but nothing had prepared me for these desperate lengths. She had always called power easily, even for her grand transformations, but never resorted to using blood to fuel the magic.

"I will not share," she had once cackled when I had inquired about using blood magic, "and especially not with some clumsy, short sighted spirit of the Fade. Their petty envies have blinded them to the truth I so clearly see."

I cared not for her truths or her riddles. I had shunned blood magic for I had learned to disdain demons, much like Flemeth, but only because they reminded me of her in their desire to use me. I knew not what Flemeth was, but I knew what Flemeth was not.

She was not my mother.

The possibility of a child rested in my womb. It was a whispered promise in my bones. My son…

I had never considered what I wanted, even when Flemeth was gone and her insistent threat removed; though she was now like a dull ache: present but bearable. I had still gone forward with the ritual as she had schooled me. It never occurred me whether I wanted this child.

Now consideration of possibility and desire were past. I would be a mother and the responsibility hung around my neck like a mountainous pendant. This child would be mine to use as I would, _**if **_I would.

Looking at the father of my unborn child as he hacked darkspawn into jagged bits, I was momentarily awed by him. Though at times naïve, he was driven by his own sense of purpose. There was dormant magic in his blood that I could sense, though distantly, and he was oblivious of it. Oh, it was an idle fancy to inform him of this at times, to see the former Templar squirm with what his own body portended. It was an old magic, of an old people. My son would wield his father's sleeping power as well as my own, but I dared not speak this.

Even without the old god's soul, our child would be powerful. He would never know his father and again that nameless, foreign emotion filled me again. The child would only have me and I would only have him.

I knew not who I was, but I knew who I was not.

I was not Flemeth.

I would not use him. I would protect him from her, from any who would do him harm, even in the face of death. He would be _**my**_ son and I would be his mother.

"Pay attention!" shouted the Qunari as a hurlock barreled down on me as I vainly called to magic that would not heed me in the hopes of saving myself, but before the monster could strike, the beast was cut down by Alistair who appeared at my side, fighting a sudden swarm of creatures while Elissa and Sten tried to clear a way through to the ingress into the Tower.

* * *

It continued much this way through the various floors, the Qunari and Elissa making a path through our assailants while Alistair protected me so I could continue casting. The temptation of blood could not stir me after that; it had not the means or the opportunity.

We climbed ever higher to the destined confrontation, despite rogue genlocks and vicious hurlocks. It felt like we could not be challenged beyond minor nuisances, save for the Archdemon himself that loomed on the roof above us. We entered a grand hall before the final portal, our goal beyond.

Then came the ogres...

The hall seemed to shrink with their sudden presence as they entered from the wings. Three of them barred our path, roaring and charging. The Qunari flew at one while Elissa snuck around another one and jumped onto its back while it howled with confusion. The third remained and turned toward Alistair. Again I was low on my reserves, having spent so much to clear the previous floors. My confidence was waning as my strength flagged.

_"For the Wardens!"_ I heard Alistair charge before the brute picked him up in its meaty mitt, beginning to violently shake him until Alistair's helmet flew from his head.

I reached deep and called forth a wave of magic with a scream as the power ripped the air out of my lungs while leaving my body. The creature was encased in ice a moment before it shattered from the crushing weight of its own body. Alistair clattered to the floor, motionless.

I ran to him while Sten and Elissa struggled with their own opponents. I hastily felt for his breath against my cheek, leaning over him and made muttering pleas for him to rouse and open his eyes.

He seemed cold to the touch for a moment, but then his eyes fluttered open and he questioned groggily, "Did we win?"

"No thanks to you," I tersely responded as the floor itself quaked with the impact of bloody ogre corpses. I could feel the relief hiss through my teeth as I berated him, "Elissa needs must teach you to dodge, since you are too sluggish to execute such a maneuver. Had I not been able…" the words sputtered to nothing like a guttering flame.

For the first time I could recall, he looked me in the eye before breathing, "Thank you, Morrigan."

"You owe me no thanks," I hastily quipped, while attempting to help him up, awkwardly bracing myself against his heavy armor.

"We owe nothing and own nothing save ourselves," he mumbled absently as he struggled to get his bearings, "Where is my helmet?"

I sighed and retrieved it from the corner it rolled to, "What few wits you have may have bruised themselves when that ogre rattled you."

"Will he be alright?" questioned Elissa as she joined us.

"I am no healer, do not ask me," I snipped, harsher than I intended.

Sten steadied Alistair, "We cannot go back and he will be vulnerable if we leave him here in this state."

"I am fine," Alistair insisted, regaining some of his coherence, "just get me to the door."

Suddenly the windows of the hall rattled with an inhuman roar, eclipsing any ogre's howl. We looked in the direction of the egress to the final stairs. Our time was at an end and destiny waited in the impatient maw of a tainted, fallen god a short sprint away.


	19. Corona

_**Corona**_

It did not breathe fire like a normal dragon. When it breathed, the Archdemon expelled breath that was laced with a swirling, murky miasma that both scalded its victims and simultaneously choked the air from their lungs, leaving the victim in a writhing, silent agony. We ran out onto the Fort Drakon roof in time to see this happen first hand as a squad of men ran at the creature head on. The lucky ones were tossed like matchsticks over the side of the roof, to a quick end. The ones engulfed in the smog blasting from the beast's jaws and nostrils, collapsed, poisoned by the taint that filled their lungs. One unfortunate soldier tried to crawl clear, having been injured when the Archdemon had pitched its head in the midst of breathing out its corruption and had been missed by the onslaught. The creature looked down on the man pitilessly before stomping him into a pulpy mass.

Though enraged, it did not move like a mindless animal. The eyes were intelligent as it turned its head to look at us, daring us to engage it.

"Kadan," I snarled, just as I saw it draw in a breath, preparing to blast us as we came through the doorway. I threw the two of us out of the way while the Witch pulled the Other Warden back through the arch and to the side. The flames and corruption made the stone of the tower sizzle where it touched.

"A frontal assault is ill-advised," I shouted, gesturing to the bodies of the last of Fort Drakon's defenders.

"We need a plan, a strategy that will enable us to weaken the creature so that we can get close enough to finish it," she agreed.

The Witch shook her head, peeking around the archway, "My magic can only do so much. This is no mere creature. It has some kind of wards. I can feel it pulsing with raw power. I can cast on it, but it will not have the same effect as it did with the darkspawn. It would be like attacking it with mosquitoes."

The Other Warden surveyed the roof from where he crouched near the Witch, "There are ballistae mounted all over this roof. A couple of shots from those should at least slow the creature down. It cannot fly out of range with its wing crippled."

"It won't be enough," Elissa answered, "That thing's hide is tough. It will take time."

"If we have at least two firing at it, it might distract it enough to enable someone to move closer, perhaps hamstring and bleed it, make it more vulnerable." Alistair insisted, pointing to two of the crude machines. It made me wish we had some of the Qunari siege engines and explosive powder. They were far more powerful and would have been more effective, but to bemoan the humans' lack of ingenuity in their warfare was pointless. The ballistae would have to suffice.

I shook Elissa's shoulder to bring her attention back to me, "The Other Warden has a valid point. We must work with what we have to throw the creature off guard. I will maneuver my way around its flank and attack its hind quarters. You and Alistair can draw its fire with the ballistae."

She bit her lip and shook her head, "It is not enough for you to take all of the bodily risk. A Warden must still be in close proximity to strike the killing blow. Having another fighter to work the alternate flank might further confuse it."

"I will take the other flank, then," The Other Warden cut in.

"No," my Kadan shook her head, but her eyes were for me, "You were just injured by the ogres and need to recover. To send you in so soon against a fresh opponent would be suicide and against the Archdemon it would be senseless. I need Alistair and Morrigan to work a ballista and draw the creature's fire. If I fall then it will enable Alistair to come in and finish it when it is at its weakest."

"Are you sure, Kadan?" I whispered.

She shrugged, "The only thing I am sure of is that we have to have this alternate wave in place in the event the worst should happen."

The Other Warden looked as if he might argue, but settled on closing his mouth and nodding agreement. He knew that if they both fell there were no other options. The Blight would not end.

The Witch nodded as well, "I will see to it that he shoots straight. Perhaps I can cast ice on the bolts and make them more potent. With both the magic and the projectiles working in chorus we might slow the Archdemon down."

We had no more time to discuss strategy, the Archdemon was eying where we cowered, preparing to breathe its flames again. Elissa directed, "When it lets lose the next blast, scatter. Morrigan and Alistair, run for the ballista on the Northeast parapet. Cast some shielding on Sten before you go, though. Sten, I want you to do your battle cry. It is enough to draw the attention of the Fade forsaken. The distraction should enable them to make it to their position without drawing undue fire since Morrigan does not have the armor that we are equipped with. I will then draw the beast's ire by looking as if I am attempting to approach the ballista on the Southern parapet."

I reached out quickly and squeezed her gauntleted hand with a nod just as the beast began to exhale with a roar. We scattered, hoping that our battle plan would work.

As I ran, I roared, clashing the hilt of my blade against the breast of my armor, much as my countrymen are wont to do. It is intended to show that we are not afraid, daring the enemy to advance and fight. The display seemed to take the Archdemon off guard, causing it to break off the stream of fire mid-exhale. It thrashed its tale, attempting to sweep me off my feet, but I rolled as I tumbled, barely avoiding it, but it brought me dangerously close to the edge of the platform of the parapet. With a few misspent inches I could have been lobbed over the edge by a swift kick from the creature.

"Over here you ugly, blighted bastard," screamed Elissa, stopping mid-stride and flailing her arms to get the monster's attention. The Archdemon wheeled about, snarling, and made to snap at her with its cruel maw before it was suddenly struck by a ballista bolt tinged with ice. The impact caused crystals to blossom against its skin at the site of the puncture.

Startled the creature raised its head and narrowed its eyes at the source of the bolt. The Other Warden struggled to load the unwieldy bolt while the Witch kept her eyes and the siting mechanism trained on the Archdemon. The second bolt was loaded in a matter of moments and the Witch called a blast of white light to engulf it as Alistair hit the trigger.

The bolt should have hit home, but the Archdemon leapt into the air with a shriek. Though it was unable to fly, it could still leap to another perch. This time it shot fire from the air at the ballista and the two operators. The Warden only just managed to jerk the Witch behind his shield with him before the blossom of miasma hit them. Elissa made it to the southern ballista in time to hastily shoot a bolt and draw the Archdemon's attention away from them as it landed in the center of the roof. The bolt flew too wide to hit center, but made a gaping hole in the Archdemon's good wing as it flew through.

I had been sprinting in my armor to close the distance between the beast and I swung at its hamstring just as it began to inhale. Instead of spitting fire, it roared, kicking its injured leg back. It used the limb's momentum against it and impaled it through its knee joint. Its blood resembled a deep burgundy wine. I took another slash at its thigh, but my strikes drew its full attention. It flung its neck to the right and caught me at my middle, but the angle had been too awkward to get a solid bite into me and it settled for pitching me across the stones. Again I found myself near the edge, close to plunging over the side, but Elissa, my Kadan ran forward and another ballista bolt struck the creature, hitting it in the neck.

"Asala," she screamed, dropping to her knees as the Archdemon returned its attention to the ballista, plaintively calling for aid from the other darkspawn in the city.

"I live," I groaned, struggling to move, "but we do not have time for this. It calls reinforcements. If we have to contend with more spawn and the Archdemon we will not be able to defeat it."

"Look at your armor," she moaned. It was true that I bled near a seam on the side, but it was more than that: the Archdemon's corruption had weakened and warped the metal of my armor, making it brittle. Large cracks laced the surface and another blow would cause it to fracture like glass. It would not aptly shield me from any attacks. If the beast struck me again, it had the potential to be a mortal blow.

"It matters not!" I insisted, still struggling to regain my feet, "I can still fight."

For a moment she looked stricken, but then the fear turned to determination. She grabbed Asala from my fingers and ran at the beast without warning. It had been turned toward the others, but it must have felt her approach. She flung herself at the creature, slicing down the center of its throat. Without its means to blast fire and spilling blood over my Kadan, the Archdemon flopped about, thrashing like a fish on the beach. I was certain one of the thrashes caught my Kadan in the arm, but when the beast fell for the last time, gasping through its own blood bubbling about its jaws, she raising the sword above her head, impaling the Archdemon through the skull.

Crackling power made a corona around my Kadan and the dying monster. She was twitching with the onslaught of the energy coursing through her, but she held tight to the sword, holding it down, pinning the beast's head to the stones, refusing to yield. Then there was smoldering and the light became almost too unbearable to stare into. Her silhouette was a blue burn against my eyelids.

Both Morrigan and Allistair ran to approach, but the pulsing energy forced them back and they looked at each other in a combination of distress and wonder. I managed to stagger forward, each step was agony, but it was nothing compared to the building dread of that moment when I feared she would be incinerated in the blinding light and all I wanted was to join her, if only to burn with her.

The wounds were too much; I collapsed just as the light died. I could hear the Other Warden screaming her name, but I could not fight oblivion. I both burned and froze, and my mouth was filled with the flavor of ash as I lost consciousness and my nostrils were filled with the stench of corrupted blood.


	20. Faith

_**Faith**_

I should have been with them.

I should have insisted on it when she left us at the gates.

As we said our farewells, I watched them go into the city until they disappeared before returning my attention to the task I had been given. When the waves of darkspawn reinforcements came I helped to buffer and defend the soldiers, soldiers whose families would miss them if I failed.

I looked at those of us who had been left behind, the castaways of our respective creeds: the unrepentant Antivan assassin who used his glibness as a shield, the zealous bard who embraced her faith, the drunken dwarf who gave up caste and clan to walk an open-skyed world, surrendering shelter for uncertainty and the "superior construct" golem who wished to cast aside endless immortality to embrace a mortal life. What drew us to these ends, fickle fate or a guiding hand?

In spite of it all, we formed a sort of family, perhaps the only family I could ever truly know or claim, as a normal life had been robbed from me by my gifts. Each of us had been robbed in a fashion and yet we had found each other while embroiled in this struggled. I would die for them, if called to, without regret. I was no longer young. It seemed right that I should meet my end here, doing something that mattered.

There was a moment on the field where I felt death was certainty. An ogre stomped through the ruined outer walls, its eyes white pools, soulless. It raised its paw above me and I found myself alone, depleted, and no rescuer in sight to shield me.

"This is it," I muttered to my spirit-friend, "You will be free of me. Thank you for the time you have given me and what you have done."

_"Not yet,"_ came the sure reply from somewhere deep within my consciousness.

The ogre stopped mid-swing, it looked stunned and blank as it fell forward and I barely managed to step clear of it. Behind the ogre stood Shale, her fists bloody with stringy flesh clinging to them since she had brained the senseless creature.

The golem shook her head with an air of disappointment, "I had thought the Elder Mage knew better than to stand in striking distance of these filthy creatures."

"You are right, Shale," I allowed with mock meekness.

"Of course I am correct," Shale replied, "Need I remind the Elder Mage of its promise? We are to go to Tevinter. It has been agreed upon and I will see to it that the Elder Mage does not get itself killed in a thoughtless moment."

"Thank you, Shale," I answered in gratitude, "I had not forgotten, and I will endeavor to be more careful in the future."

Shale shook her head, "How the Elder Mage has survived so long baffles me."

All the "Elder Mage" references aside, I smiled to myself. Apparently destiny had provided a haughty, stony protector in the interim. Even the spirit seemed vaguely amused by the realization.

_"There is more left to do,"_ the spirit chided gently, _"and we will not fade until what needs to be accomplished is done. Do not be in such a hurry…"_

"You might be as pushy as that golem," I sighed playfully.

The spirit seemed to chuckle, _"Not quite. I have no need to be. You have been a cooperative host and most accommodating."_

"What if I had been less accommodating or cooperative?" I inquired.

_"Then I would not have cared for you, Wynne."_ The spirit answered.

"Is that why you persist, then," I probed, "out of a sense of caring?"

_"Yes, why else would I have chained myself to you and willingly abandoned what was known to me? Is that not what drives you? You too care very deeply for these people. That is what drove you to defend Petra in the face of certain death. That is what caused you to remember Aneirin after so many years. That is what causes you to be on this battlefield instead of cloistered in the Tower. You have shared this sense of caring with me and with others. In turn, they care for you. Once it was baffling to me, but now I am coming to understand better this enigma."_ The spirit explained this patiently, as if to a child who could not quite grasp an adult's meaning.

"You are unique, spirit," I marveled inwardly.

_"So are you, Wynne."_

* * *

When the plume of smoke rose from Fort Drakon and all others on the field cheered as darkspawn retreated in a hasty, disorganized rush, it was the spirit that leapt within me with a sense of dread and urged me, _"Run, Wynne! You are needed __**now!**__"_

I did not question as I once might have, I began to run. Zevran saw me and followed, Leliana began to ask, but when she saw I would not stop to answer, she too ran to keep up. There was also the thunder of golem feet as my stony nanny did not waste time in inquiry but followed diligently. Just above that came the flustered blustering of Oghren, complaining that he was being left behind before the golem gave a theatrical sigh, grabbed him and carried him under her arm, refusing to slow for the irate dwarf threatening, "I don't care if you are a golem, I'll take a pick axe to your knees if you do not put me down. Nobody slings around a dwarf like a wine skin. Do you hear me?"

"The dwarf squawks more than pigeons. Perhaps I should just squash it and be done with this rather than try to aid it."

The dog was the only one that managed to keep pace with me, as if he too could feel the urgency. Every so often Valor would bark at the others lagging behind us, encouraging them to move faster. I do not know by what strength I managed it, but my resilience did not lag. My worry gave my feet wings.

As the tower of Fort Drakon loomed above us, we rushed past carnage and bodies of all kinds. I ignored it all. It would not help to dwell on it. All that mattered was whatever waited at the top of the tower. The stairs were endless, an unfolding wave of wood and stone sloping up, climbing them I could feel them near swelling under my feet, forcing me to rise quickly, pushing me on. The others were gasping, calling for me to slow, but the momentum was irresistible, like the driving of waves towards a shore.

Bursting through the doors, the sun had begun to cut through the red haze and filtered down on Alistair, cradling a gray form. Approaching my heart sank, my eyes filled with tears. Elissa looked the color of ash with swaths of angry, oozing burns scattered like red coals in a grate. She had been burned so badly that her clothes were charred and falling from her limp limbs. Alistair was speaking softly to her, tears running down his face.

"Is she…" came Leliana's gasp as she emerged shortly after me.

Valor loped over to the prone form of his master, whimpering, nuzzling her hand where it lay on the ground, and she winced.

"She is alive…" Alistair choked, brokenly, "but the intensity… it burned her… she would not let go of the sword. It was like all the energy of the beast dying centered on her. That is why… a Warden is supposed to… it was not supposed to happen this way… we had thought… I had hoped… perhaps it would have been better…"

I knelt next to him and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, "I need you to lay her down and step away. I cannot work without space."

"I will see to Sten," Leliana offered, moving towards the hulking form of the downed man.

Alistair offered, "Morrigan said that he lived, but he was hurt. She had checked."

"Then where is she?" Leliana demanded as she gently pulled the helmet from the Qunari's head, examining his features and dabbing his brow with a soft cloth she had pulled from her pouch.

Alistair shook his head, but did not answer. Morrigan had disappeared, leaving the rest of us to deal with the despair before us.

"Can you help her?" Zevran asked me, his troubled expression foreign to his careless features.

I glanced at him, "I hope so."

Somewhere within me, I sought my spirit companion. In my own mind I pleaded, _"Once you had saved my life, bringing me back from the edge of death. At this moment my friend is dying. If we do not act, then she will die. Will you help me again?"_

"_You need not ask,"_ the spirit replied, _"I feel her tenuously. It will expend much, but it is manageable."_

"_I do not care what it expends. I live on borrowed time."_

"_Borrowing implies that it will be repaid; what you have is gifted time. It is not endless, but it is sufficient to what is required. You do not fear death, so neither shall I. We are in accord. We will save the girl, but there is more than one life to be saved."_ The spirit whispered, bracing itself for what would happen next.

With its affirmation assured, I called forward the most power I had ever dared to use in a healing. It was more than a revival spell, more than a healing spell, it tugged at the very fabric of the Fade, pulling against the confines of death that twined itself about Elissa and threatened to drag her from our midst. Raising my arms, I could feel the spirit opening outward like a door, bathing all of us in a pale blue light. It did not hurt, as I expected it would, for many times calling forth such power could rip the air from one's lungs, but this swelled out, flooding us.

For a moment I doubted if it worked, but Elissa's eyes suddenly bulged open, her back arched as she gasped air. Some of the more obvious burns knit themselves before our eyes, seeming to grow new skin. The flush of health spread across the cheeks that had been burned and raw moments before.

Just as it had started as a slow build, the power began to ebb and recede, pulling back and returning to the spirit.

"Wynne?" Elissa spoke my name in a reverent whisper and I smiled.

"Apparently my faithful friend does healing and not just defensive magic," I explained, reaching down to take her hand.

"Thank the Maker," Alistair sobbed, wiping his eyes.

"Welcome back, Beya," Zevran crooned; moving forward to brush a gentle hand down Elissa's cheek, "we feared you had tired of our company. You saved me from having to enter the Fade to retrieve you."

The assassin looked at me a moment and his green eyes were full of unbelieving gratitude, a childlike joy that was completely out of place in his jaded heart.

Leliana's voice interrupted our relief, as she held up the man in a sitting position, "Wynne, Sten is not doing well. He is burning up. His eyes are glassy and his skin…"

Turning my attention to the other injured party, I caught my breath. His malady was very familiar to me since I had seen it among some of the soldiers at Ostagar. Sten was conscious now and fully aware of what ailed him, just as I. He looked into my eyes and rasped the words that I recognized in my heart, _"The taint."_


	21. Ritual

_Ritual_

How quickly the tides turn.

The future king initially wishes to kill a man out of jealousy. Then, barely a week later, that king is reduced to picking through rubble in order to obtain the means to save the same man. What is even more shocking is that I have been nominated to help said king, once my rival, to achieve this task to save the fallen party, also my rival. In the midst of this, I feel no animosity toward either party and am earnestly driven to meet our goal with a sense of urgency that I have not experienced, except in the occupation of trying to save myself.

If Taliesin still drew breath, he would be using it to laugh heartily at how far I have fallen from my previous grace.

"Camarada, I will need your help to move the beam. I cannot lift it alone," I called through gritted teeth and Alistair moved quickly to comply.

"Damned Grey Warden Vault," groaned Alistair, "It would be located in the hardest hit portion of the market."

I struggled with the weight of the beam, "There is no help for it. If we had needed something from the Alienage, that large tree would have fallen across it and our target would be wedged beneath. It would never be easy. Some people claim that the Maker has turned away from us, but I am beginning to suspect that the Maker throws obstacles at us so He can watch what we do as a form of entertainment. Why else would we meet conflicts and obstacles at every turn? What is it that we are trying to retrieve again?"

"After the Landsmeet, Riordan restored the manuscript that contained the formula necessary for the Joining. The other Grey Wardens are not due to join us from Orlais for quite some time. To save Sten we have to perform the Joining as soon as possible," Alistair grunted the explanation as we managed to clear the largest beam blocking our progress in clearing the door into the vault.

"What does the formula involve?" I continued to probe, but Alistair shook his head.

"If I knew the exact measurements I would not waste time digging out the vault. I know it involves darkspawn blood and some blood from an Archdemon," He huffed this while trying to dislodge a large boulder.

"At least we have plenty of that," I allowed, "what else is necessary for this Joining ritual?"

"I cannot tell you, Zevran. The Order requires that we maintain the secrecy of our practices," He said this soberly.

I paused a moment before asking, "Why is the golem not helping us?"

"She is carrying Sten to more comfortable quarters in the palace. It was the only way we could move him. Having us focus on this enables us to save time." Alistair grimaced as he finally managed to move the boulder, "I think we have cleared enough that we can try to pry the door open."

Both of us pushed against the door, grunting with the strain until we managed to get the door open wide enough for me to slip through, but not Alistair. We could get it no wider and we had no time to waste.

"Do not worry, Camarada," I comforted him as I wriggled past the barrier, "I shall find the manuscript. I am very adept at creeping in confined spaces."

I worked quickly, checking every corner and cubby of the room for the manuscript. The vault itself had suffered partial collapse. The air was dusty and I choked on it every time I breathed. Alistair called to me anxiously, "Are you finding anything?"

"Not as yet?"

"Hurry, there is not much time," he urged through the thin crevice and peered into the darkness, trying to discern what I did, "and no scavenging. The weapons and armor belong to the Grey Wardens. I would prefer that it remain untouched."

"Too late, much of it was touched by falling debris through the roof. You need not be concerned that I will help myself. The Grey Wardens can have it."

"That is comforting," he replied with chagrin.

I continued the conversation as I rifled through some papers scattered in a corner, "Why are you helping to save the Qunari anyway? Not so long ago you would have killed him yourself. If he were to die then Elissa would be free once again and you would not be to blame."

"I cannot just let him die, not when I can help him. You saw her face…"

"Si, I saw. It feels like we saved her only to lose her in a way."

"That is why I have to do this," Alistair confessed, "she was so close to being dead in my arms. Wynne saved her while I could do nothing. When she saw Sten and how badly he was hurt, the life died in her eyes. The last time she looked like that was when I saw her shortly after she lost her parents. It was months before I saw any light in her eyes. How could I stand by when I can do something for her, when I can protect her from that level of loss again?"

I perused a promising journal, flipping through the pages and assured him, "I understand," before adding under my breath, "more than you even realize."

"Have you found anything yet?" he demanded impatiently.

"Yes, here," I slipped the book into his hand through the space before I squeezed back through the doorway, "that may be it. I did not look at it closely, since I had no wish to compromise your Wardening secrets."

Leafing through the pages, he seemed to find what satisfied him and turned wordlessly toward the street, starting to run. Having no other alternative, I chased after him as he headed for the palace. In the streets soldiers searched through the rubble for hiding survivors and salvageable materials. The wind was wafting away the last vestiges of the smoke that had hung to the air, but it could not remove the blood. It would take months before the stains would fade and the streets would be clean.

We managed to locate the others in a room in the royal suites in the palace. The palace itself had sustained damage as well; the main hall had large cracks in the floor. The suites had fared better than most of the rest of the city. The others had made Sten comfortable and Wynne was trying to slow the progression of the Taint in his blood.

"We have the formula," Alistair announced, holding the manuscript aloft a moment, "we can perform the Joining. Leliana, go get the vials of darkspawn blood and the Archdemon blood I asked you to collect. Wynne, I need some of your lyrium."

Leliana scrambled to comply and Elissa nodded, turning to Sten, "We have what we need. The Joining will save your life."

"You are sure of this, Kadan?" The Qunari croaked, his breathing was labored.

"It is the only way. There is no cure for the Taint," she explained, gently taking his hand.

"Now that we have what we need, everyone needs to get out of the room so that we can conduct the ceremony," Alistair instructed everyone, taking the vials that Leliana produced from her pack and the lyrium from Wynne.

"That is not necessary," Elissa stated.

"But the Wardens are very specific…" Alistair began to argue, pouring the ingredients into a chalice that he had carried among his things. His hands trembled slightly as he mixed the concoction and his eyes reflected uncertainty.

"So am I," Elissa cut him off, "Unless of course you wish to be the one to catch him if he falls over."

Alistair looked cowed a moment and glanced around at the rest of us gathered around our ill friend, "The Wardens insist that the Joining must be kept secret."

"I swear by the Maker and his Bride that I shall never speak of the Joining to another soul," Leliana vowed, placing a reverent hand over her heart.

"I am too old to worry about sharing the secrets of your Order," Wynne reassured Alistair, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Shale glared at Alistair, "I will leave if the Grey Warden is prepared to physically remove me."

Alistair looked among the insistent women facing him before turning to me. I shrugged, "Who am I going to tell? I already have the Crows ready to kill me to keep their secrets. I am not about to earn the Grey Wardens' enmity if I can help it."

Alistair sighed, "At least the dwarf is elsewhere…he will not speak of it in an unguarded, inebriated moment."

"Get on with it, Alistair," Elissa growled, propping Sten up with her shoulder as he stood and I took his other side in order to further steady him.

Alistair took a breath, regaining his composure before intoning solemnly, _"Since the first, these words have been spoken at the ceremony: Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us in the shadows where we stand vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn."_ He raised his eyes, and I was unsure whether he looked at Sten, Elissa or the two of them together before finishing, _"And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten. And that one day we shall join you."_ He handed the chalice to Sten and Elissa helped to bring it to the man's lips.

Sten sputtered slightly, coughed and his eyes went white. He began to pass out and Elissa tried to lower him to the ground, but she lost her grip on him and he reeled toward me, all twenty stone of him. Sten's weight and unwieldy shape made it difficult for me to do anything but collapse under him, hitting the floor with a groan.

"Normally I might welcome being trapped under a handsome man, but this is more than I can withstand," I squeaked.

Shale gently pulled Sten off me and arranged him on the floor. Elissa examined him while Leliana helped me up.

"He has survived," Elissa reassured us, gently placing a hand upon his forehead.

Alistair nodded and turned to the others, "All we can do is wait until he regains consciousness to see if it helped."

Elissa looked up at him, alarmed, "You think it may not make a difference? He survived the Joining."

He shook his head, "It is not a cure Elissa. Some who are tainted, even if they withstand the Joining, do not last long. The Taint was strong in him, worse than I have ever seen it. Even now he is like a beacon and I can sense it pulsing in him. I have not had as much experience as some of the elder wardens. I cannot say what is normal. There are also not many Kossith that become Wardens, that is far rarer and I have no clue how they respond to the taint. Also, he was tainted by an Archdemon, something that has probably not occurred in over five hundred years. It was very potent. He could just become…"

"No!" she waved her hand at him to stop speaking and she closed her eyes, leaning over to place her own forehead against Sten's, whispering silently, "You will not be defeated by this, if any can withstand this it is you.

"I hope you are right," I muttered for my ears alone.


	22. Vision

_**Vision**_

I remembered the chalice, the rank liquid flowing down my throat, burning, reigniting the blaze in my veins that had tapered down in the intervening hours since the Archdemon poisoned me. My throat constricted, I hacked at the unwelcome intrusion, trying to expel it from me, but it was too late. This new burning mingled with the old burning, but it was different. It was as if I could step back from my being and see its crimson glow mixing with the tainted amethyst traces in my own blood. I was falling, for I could not watch and maintain my body.

Voices around me were garbled; the one voice I could truly discern was that of my Kadan. She remained with me, but it was different. There was a pulse to her I had not known before, I could feel her heart, I could feel her own tainted blood that she withstood for so long. Only then did I understand what she had carried and struggled with. Only then did I realize the nightmare of survival she embraced and which I too embraced. All the months we travelled together and I watched her, thinking I understood her, and yet I was oblivious to it all. The new awareness hummed in my veins, beating back the pain of the taint, defeating it in degrees, but the Archdemon's taint is relentless.

I wished to stay with her, the coolness of her forehead against my own, soothing my fevered thoughts. She spoke words that I could not interpret, my faculties for translation failed me in the onslaught of my taint, but I knew the meaning of her voice: the tender pleading ache of the words intended to grip me and hold me close, but something else also pulled me.

I felt my being recede like a tide, ebbing away from her in increments. As the last vestiges of me flowed away from her, I looked ahead to a distant shore, jagged rocks. Something about it was familiar, like my home in Seheron. I mused that at least I returned in my fitful dreams, desiring to remain faithful to my charge as deeply as I wished to remain faithful to my Kadan. The torn pieces of my consciousness were thrown onto the rocks.

"Greetings, Qunari," cackled a familiar voice, "we meet again it seems."

The witch, the one we had slain as a dragon, stood above me as I sprawled on the shore. She exhibited no hostility or anger at my presence, only bemusement. She reached down a gnarled hand, offering me aid, but I used my paltry strength to scuttle away from her and scrabble into a sitting position. Eying her warily I questioned, "Why are you here?"

"You mean, why am I here if you killed me?" she chuckled mockingly, "As wise as you perceive yourself to be, you know little of me. Morrigan mistakenly thought she knew me and she strained against her little net, fluttering like a snared bird, but only made herself far more trapped than before. She thought I wished to extend my own life through her by claiming her insignificant body. Such vanity! She knew not that she was intended to be the egg, the vessel, the clam carrying the pearl. She was foolish, yet she has learned something at least. I can feel her resolve, finally she thinks, finally she has invested in something other than herself. Not as I would have done, mind you…"

"Cease your riddling, Woman," I growled, "The witch concerns me not."

"Oh ho," she smiled, her features seemed to twist slightly, contorting to something beastly before returning to their previous visage, "does she not?"

I struggled to my feet stiffly, towering above her, asserting myself, "I made my pact, nearly losing all in the process. If you gloat, do it elsewhere."

"You are intriguing, Qunari. I thought I had seen all the angles, all the outcomes, but I had not foreseen you. You had been trapped by your own beliefs and I falsely assumed that your nets snared you as completely as Morrigan. Even after so long I am still fool to think I can see all and I see nothing. It is always the one pebble we overlook on the road that overturns the whole cart." She began to walk around me while I held my ground, as if examining me, considering me with new eyes. It was disconcerting to be examined as prey, but I refused to quail before her.

"Finish and be done, Crone. Are we to battle or aren't we?" I demanded impatiently.

She laughed outright then, great gasping gales of laughter, "That is the world to you. Anything can be defeated with your fists or your blade. You assume it is all physical struggles. That is a warrior for you, particularly one of the Beresaad. You assume you will either conquer or fall in battle. You are ill-prepared for the place between. I have no intent to fight with you this day; I merely wished to see that which tattered my carefully sewn plans. Every time I assume that I have all the pieces in place, it seems the Maker chooses another move, pulls the loose string that unravels all I have carefully hewn."

"There is no Maker," I growled, "There is only the Qun!"

"Tell yourself that if it comforts you. In truth the two exist side by side, in parallel if you will or if you won't. The Qun can no sooner unseat the Maker than I can, though I might have schemed to try at one point and I might scheme to try again, if given the proper circumstances and encouragement. No, Qunari, you will have to settle for sharing, but you have already skewed in that direction, have you not? You play nicely with others, now, depending on who the others are. Your pretty Warden has gentled you. You, in turn, have tamed some of her turmoil. Tit for tat, so is the tail caught of the cat. Silly me, to chase something so plain and obvious only to be eluded still." She began to saunter away, obscured by a mist as it rose from the sea.

I made to follow her, but felt my feet fastened to the ground and bellowed after her, "Where are you bound? What do you plan? Why are you toying with me?"

She paused and turned to me, but her face and features were obscured, she was no more than a silhouette, "I do not play with toys, I am far too old. Know this, Qunari, warrior of the Beresaad, you have thwarted me: not with your might or your wit. You did so unintentionally, as one who trips on something to fracture it by accident. You have helped to tear asunder the soul I longed to restore. It is fragmented now between two probabilities, though it will eventually gravitate to return itself to one. It is not how I would have desired things, but it will suffice. Go now, Qunari, and be well. There are greater feats to test you than I."

She was gone then, and the mist swirled about me: choking mist, rank like the liquid that I had swallowed. It reeked of the Taint and the corruption. I heard the howling of darkspawn and could barely register their lament. Their tainted god had been torn from them, cut down when it had promised victory. They were driven by a greedy consumption that could never be sated.

For a moment it caused me to shiver. For a moment the wails sounded like those of my brethren, driven to conquer, driven to make the world bow before the Qun. My enlightenment was now a bane.

* * *

**_Author's Note: I would like to acknowledge Tyanilth's story, The Hourglass, which helped to inspire some of this chapter. If you have not read it, I highly recommend it. It is AWESOME!_**


	23. Return

_**Return**_

He came back to me, during that dark time following the Archdemon, but he was not the same.

As the weeks passed and the country slowly recovered from the ordeal of the Blight, repairs began on the city of Denerim. Alistair's coronation was delayed until the city was in better stead, acting as regent by authority of the Landsmeet and with the assistance of Arl Eamon to ensure that the needs of the people were met first and foremost.

The Grey Warden reserves from Orlais arrived two weeks after the fall of the Archdemon. They were startled to discover two living Grey Wardens in the palace, one of them destined for the Ferelden throne and the other a woman.

We had agreed, Alistair and I, before their arrival on a suitable course of action and spread the rumor among the citizens that the final blow had been struck by the Elder Warden, Riordan. In the chaos and fighting, no one could remember having seen him fall from the back of the Archdemon, save for those who were looking for it. It was determined that his remains would be interred with full honors of state and the proper respect shown for one who had sacrificed his life to defend the world from the Blight. This "news" was dispersed aptly to the populace by a helpful rogue and a willing bard.

Per my request, Alistair also refrained from mentioning Sten's condition to the Grey Warden superiors. When they asked about a source of taint that they sensed within the palace, Alistair politely offered that there were some invalid individuals who were suffering from the effects of darkspawn exposure, but were not fit to take the Joining and were too far gone to have it be of any help. Those individuals were being dealt with quietly in the interim with compassion and in the interest of maintaining a sense of calm among the surviving populace. The Wardens did not delve further, preferring to avoid any serious repercussions should the results of a human taint be made known to people.

Let the Wardens keep their secrets and we would keep our own. It guaranteed Sten's freedom and prevented them from discovering the compromises we had made in order to end this Blight. While the Warden hierarchy is quick to claim that they are prepared to end Blights by any means necessary, I am sure there is a breaking point to their liberalism.

Since Alistair was to have his hands full in caring for the needs of the country, they named me as Warden Commander of Ferelden, though with much arguing among them due to my inexperience. The Landsmeet voted in favor of confiscating Arl Howe's lands and turning it over to the Grey Wardens, via Alistair's proposal. Continuing to have the Grey Wardens based on the palace grounds would soon become a conflict of interest if the order were not established elsewhere in the country. It was decided that Vigil's Keep would house the order as it re-established itself close to Amaranthine, in close riding distance to Highever.

Soldier's Peak would also be reclaimed for the Wardens and would house new Warden Research in areas dealing with rehabilitating Blight affected areas and studying the nature of the Taint in reference to reversing its harm to animal and potentially people. Whatever progress made had the potential to benefit areas such as Lothering. Between Levi Dryden and Avernus, Soldier's Peak would once again become a Warden hub and a value to the Order.

The Wardens of Orlais committed to sending a contingent of Wardens until we replenished the numbers of our ranks at Vigil's Keep. They also planned to send a council of Elder Warden Mages to review Avernus' findings regarding Warden Taint abilities. It marked a new era of cooperation between the Wardens of Ferelden and the Wardens of Orlais, and it would be my responsibility to shepherd in these changes. The Wardens withdrew, satisfied that we had the situation in hand and promised to remain in close contact, leaving us to our own devices.

Around this time Fergus was discovered and returned to the capital by an entourage of Chasind. He had been ill from exposure to the corruption during his misadventure in the Wilds but, by Andraste's mercy, he was not truly tainted. His guides claimed to have been tasked with his protection by the Witch of the Wilds, mere weeks before. They were sorely afraid of what she would do to them if they should fail her request.

This development troubled me for, by the men's reckoning, they had been summoned by her at the edge of the Korcari some weeks after our altercation with her when she had been slain in her dragon form. If they were to be believed, Flemeth had survived in some form and had still seen fit to provide for my brother. What this boon will cost me remains to be seen. I know enough of both Flemeth and Morrigan to know that their favors are not free. There is always a price.

As the recovery progressed, attention began to turn toward the upcoming coronation. Alistair became near tyrannical with the planning. He wanted it to be perfect, not for himself, but for the people to build their hope and faith in his new rule. We began to see less and less of him as he became further embroiled in the affairs of state.

I was focused on making the necessary arrangements to move the Warden's assets previously housed in the capital to Vigil's Keep. The others began to see to their own plans. Wynne and Shale began making plans to travel to Tevinter, after revealing Shale's desire to recover her mortality and the hopes that the magisters might be able to shed light on her dilemma. Lelianna received word from the royal court of Orlais that her performing talents were desired for the pleasure of the Empress. Oghren planned to marry Felsi and work for the palace guards.

Zevran was vague with his own plans, whenever asked, he stated, "I am considering all my options."

Sten seemed distant during his recovery. Though we shared a bed in our quarters, he hardly discussed anything but immediate concerns. I knew that his nightmares were harsh, but he refused to speak of them if I asked. He would roll toward me in the night and hold me close. His tenderness had not changed, but there was something closed against me.

One night I awoke to find him standing by the window, looking to the harbor.

"Did you have another nightmare?" I questioned, getting out of bed to join him by the window, the early autumn breeze wafting in, causing goose bumps to appear on my bare legs.

I reached my arms around his waist and leaned my head against his shoulder until he lifted his arm to wrap around me. He nodded, "Yes."

I sighed, "I know you do not wish to discuss it, but it might help if you speak of it with me. I know what you are facing."

Expecting him to refuse outright again, I squeeze him reassuringly, but he began, "Since the Joining, I have had a better understanding of what you withstood all those months. Unlike me, you had to adjust while facing miserable odds and the constant upheaval. I know it is not fair that you have given me every support and yet I remain apart. Please know that it is due to no fault of yours."

"Then what is it?" I insisted, maneuvering myself in front of him so I could look into his eyes.

"After the Joining, I had a vision. My people know nothing of the Blight or of darkspawn. I know I had told you that we came here to learn about the Blight, per the Arishok's directive, but I never told you why he was concerned; evading it by saying that the Blight is a concern for everyone. What I said was true in a fashion, I now know that the Blight and the darkspawn are concerns for all, but there was so much more. Part of his reason was that he is planning to send a force to these shores." He rested his hands on my shoulders, his eyes filled with intensity.

"But, if the Qunari were to attack now while we are weakened in the wake of the Blight we would never be able to withstand it." I reasoned, the panic accompanying the reality of what he said starting to settle in my stomach, "Ferelden would fall to the Qunari."

Sten nodded, "That is why I must go back. It is no longer a question of my duty to the Qun or my people, but it is an issue of maintaining this fragile peace, your peace. I must teach my people a new path, one where the Qun might co-exist without swallowing all whole in its wake, like the darkspawn, like the Blight. War can only bring more destruction. By the time all are defeated, who will be left standing. In such a state we would all be vulnerable if the darkspawn should rise again. A Blight could destroy it all; wipe bare the slate of the world."

"No!" I argued, reaching up to grip his tunic in a white knuckled grip, "Could you not send word? Or perhaps the Wardens could send a diplomatic entourage to work with the Qunari? You are now in actuality a Warden. We could recruit among your people for the Wardens and prepare them in the event another Blight should erupt."

"Kadan, the Qun is clear. The Wardens are highly regarded as warriors, but they are still considered outsiders. The Arishok would never allow a division of purpose in such a situation. I must go and present the case before him in my report and hope that he will see reason. Perhaps then relations can open between our two peoples…" Sten trailing off before pulling me against him in a crushing embrace, holding me as if he feared to let go.

He had realized a new purpose and I was helpless to sway him. I offered, "I can go with you. We will travel together."

"No," he insisted pulling back to look into my face again, "you must stay here where you are needed. Things are coming, great things, horrifying things, things that will change it all. If I fail you need to be here to prepare your people, the humans and the Wardens. It is your calling, your responsibility."

"You are asking me to divide my soul, Asala."

He smiled slightly at that, "A soul is not a sword or an object that can be broken, Kadan. Our souls remain entwined even if our bodies are not. I have a responsibility to my people and to you. In doing this I can meet both my commitments. When I have done what I can to reassure safety for us all, I will return. This I swear."

I threw myself into his arms again. It was my turn to hold him in a relentless embrace, memorizing the feel of him, the scent of his skin. I knew it was useless to argue further. He was leaving and I was staying. It made me feel desolate.

Withdrawing from him again, I went to the wardrobe in the corner of the room and withdrew his sword, Asala. The sword that had struck the final blow to the Archdemon had not withstood well the ravages of the Archdemon's taint. The metal was warped, the point curved where it had pierced the beast and the blade was tarnished in such a way that I could not remove the stains no matter how I polished it. Offering the weapon to him, I whispered, "You must be sure to take this with you. You said you would be killed on sight without it. I am concerned that your countrymen might still find it unrecognizable. Will that be an issue?"

"The hilt is still the same; it still carries the crest of the Beresaad. The blade itself is true to my person as it stands now. It remains Asala. It will suffice." He reassured me, holding it forth to examine the blade again.

Both his sword and his soul had been changed by the Blight. That was a truth neither of us could escape. It would be his companion on his journey.


	24. Safety

_**Safety**_

Rumors came to me, even in the distant corners of the Wilds where I hid, that the darkspawn did not disperse as completely as they should, but lingered in the lands. For a time I considered if perhaps the ritual had complicated matters in this way, that perhaps the darkspawn could sense the child distantly within my own womb. I was careful where I tarried and kept clear of any tainted areas where the spawn might hide.

By the time of my travail arrived, I had joined a Chasind tribe, claiming to be a widowed woman whose husband had been killed during the various darkspawn raids along with the rest of my tribe. I explained that I sought a safe place to bear my child, which was true. The tribe had a gifted wise-woman who knew herb lore and was experienced in the birthing of babies, so I felt comfortable that both the child and I would survive the process.

The tribe welcomed me, though with some suspicion. My story was quite plausible but rumors of the Witch of the Wilds still prevailed, though she had not been encountered in some time. The tribe was interested to see if I bore a son or a daughter. In their minds, if the child were a girl then it would be some kind of proof that I was Flemeth. The old stories still had sway, though mistaken they were, and I could only be amused by their foolish superstitions, having lived at the knee of Flemeth herself.

Ciniod arrived in the world with a howl that would have rivaled that Archdemon, or so it seemed to me. His tuft of black hair crowning his scarlet colored head pronounced him as mine, but the midwife was startled to see that his eyes were not blue as most babies born, but the color of deep amber, a gift from his human father. She crowed to see that he was a big, strapping boy and laughed at the tribe's surprise that he was not a girl.

The birth was hard upon my body, and I ached, but when the midwife offered to summon another woman to suckle him so that I might rest, I demanded that she hand my son to me. He eagerly sucked at my breast and I was filled with a wonderful tenderness that eclipsed all the pain experienced with his arrival. His eyes gazed up to me, before drowsing closed with sleep, feeling secure that he was welcome and wanted. My body might well have been boneless for all my weariness, but I could not sleep for many hours until I examined him from crown to heel, marveling at his perfect fingers and toes. To say I was smitten would be an understatement.

The weeks past and ambled into months, as Ciniod grew strong and I grew ever more watchful, worrying. I had not felt Flemeth or seen sign of her in many months. I took it for granted that she would eventually try to find us, to try to take Ciniod. He had been her prize. It was what she had groomed me for, aside from being a new host for her own consciousness, and it would not be in character for her to just surrender.

Eventually the darkspawn incursions abated and the Chasind tribes moved more freely. The land began to heal. The world began to return to its original state. Things lulled to sleep that had once been watchful. People grew complacent. All strove to forget that there had ever been a Blight at all.

I departed from the tribe when Ciniod was near a year old. Some of the men began to eye me as a potential partner. I had enough of partners.

Some nights I felt a longing, as I nuzzled my son's downy head by the fire, listening to his sweet breath, reassuring myself that he was well and near at hand. At such times I allowed a feeling of longing to pass, a desire for what I had lost that I had never truly allowed myself embrace to begin with.

The one that haunted my dreams with desire despised me. The one that should have despised me instead missed me. I could feel it, even at a distance. What had been taken for granted was amputated and could not be returned. Looking at my son I could not regret the action, and yet I rued the result in some fashion. The loneliness was there and it mocked me, the one who had insisted that being alone was preferable.

Once I came across a group of wandering Dalish. They too eyed me with suspicion, but they allowed me to warm myself and my child by the fire. They were not barbaric, though not necessarily hospitable, and offered me something warm to eat. The Keeper watched us from a distance, warily, as if considering something.

During the night, the Keeper finally approached, and sat beside me, "You are like a deer whose ears twitch, waiting for the predator that you know is in the brush. Asha'bellanar has been absent for some time, and yet you wait for her. What have you done to cause you to believe you have garnered her notice?"

"I have something she wants to possess," I stated.

The elf looked at me long, "Considering how lightly you travel, you believe that she either wants you or she wants your child."

I held my silence. I did not wish to discuss my fears with a stranger. The gnawing of it had grown more acute over time and to give it voice would have only made it more real.

"So it is the child you fear to lose, then." The Keeper guessed at my feeling and I did not argue.

She looked at the baby, sleeping in his swaddling, "The child is special, I can sense it. He has a destiny that will shake the world, but it is unclear whether that is for good or for ill. The one comfort I can offer is that he will not face it alone. There is something he requires, there is something he will seek when the time comes."

"What?" I questioned, jerking out of my feigned apathy. The elf could see something and I longed to know how. Even Flemeth could not scry with accuracy, how could this elf claim to? It occurred to me that perhaps the elf might be a threat.

"Atisha, asha*," she reassured me with an even tone, "I am no threat to you or the child. I might be of aid to you, in fact. The boy is not ready for anything Fate may have planned and Asha'bellanar is not one to be dissuaded. There is a possible place you might hide beyond her reach and influence. It is an old place, one only known to my people, but it is risky. Some of what was known has been lost or tainted. If you are willing, tomorrow I shall consult with you further. Tonight you shall stay in my tent."

Then the woman called to a warrior, "Ariane, bring her to my tent. See that she has what she and her son require. Also, speak to our scouts, tell them to be wary. These woods could well have unfriendly eyes. Report anything unusual to me."

"Ma nuvenin**, Keeper," the elven warrior responded, carrying out the older woman's request.

My mind roiled with what had been conveyed. I had the potential to find a safe place to raise my son until he would be able to defend himself. The thought made me near giddy, but at the same time I did not trust it. What if the Keeper turned on me or demanded some kind of boon from me. I had nothing to give, nothing to offer.

I slept that night and considered what it would take to ensure my son's safety.

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**

**_*Elvish for "Peace, girl."_**

**_**Elvish for "As you wish"_**


	25. Rainbow

_**Rainbow**_

My name is Iris Asala Cousland.

I have two homes: one in Highever with Uncle Fergus and one at Vigil's Keep with Mama.

I wish I could live with Mama always, but Uncle Fergus says that a barracks is no place for a little girl to be properly raised. Mama agrees sometimes, but I know she misses me terribly when I am far away from her. I can tell when she hugs me when she leaves me in Highever and when she hugs me when she returns to fetch me. It is all happy and sad and safe and hard and soft at the same time.

I asked Uncle Zev where people learn to hug like that.

He said, "It is a talent that only the best people learn with practice."

Uncle Zev always lives with me, regardless of where I am. He watches me. I am not sure why, but he is good at it.

He calls me, "Miastraya."*

He says it better than me, though. His voice gets all crinkly and runny with the letters.

I asked if I could learn to say it like he does.

He said he would have to take me to Antiva so I could learn how to speak it right.

I asked Mama if she would let Uncle Zev take me to Antiva so I could make my voice do crinkly letters.

She said no.

Uncle Zev says we will ask again when I get older.

Uncle Oghren says it will not matter how long we wait, I will be an old woman before Mama would allow it.

He said it with more bad words and cussing though, but Mama says I am not allowed to use those words or she would scrub my mouth with soap.

During the last time Mama visited Uncle Fergus and me here in Highever, I had snuck down to his study so I could see her. They were talking really loud and the door had been left open a crack, so I could hear them.

"She needs a father, Elissa!" Uncle Fergus said, his voice was not angry, but it had edges.

"She has a father. He said he would come back." Mama said back.

Uncle Fergus' voice got softer and I could only hear, "He may have…but it has been years. Something might have happened. Maybe he is not coming back. Maybe you should move on. You have a right to be happy."

"Who says I am not happy?" Mama asked.

Uncle Fergus made that noise he makes when he does not like what he is hearing but is not sure what to say. I did not hear what he said next because Uncle Zev found me and carried me away quickly.

He can find me wherever I hide and I will not even hear him when he comes for me.

We went walking in the garden and he held my hand.

"Would you be my father, Uncle Zev?" I asked him.

He looked surprised when I asked, and looked down at me, "Why would you ask that, Miastraya?"

"Uncle Fergus says I need a father."

His jaw got all tight and his eyes looked a little sad, "I would love to be your father, but I seem to be meant to be your Uncle Zev. That is all."

"Then can I marry you when I grow up?"

He laughed then, it pushed all the sad away, "Somehow I think your Mama would say no to that too. Besides, you will meet someone wonderful who will make your heart flutter and, if he is a good man, I will let him live and he can marry you. If he turns out to be a bad man and hurts you, then I make no guarantees on his continued health."

"What does that mean, Uncle Zev?"

"What it means is…." He paused before picking me up in his arms and looking me in the eyes, "it means that I will always be here for you, watching over you. You are Miastraya. Never forget that. Alright?"

I nodded and he put me down again so we could continue walking.

I wondered if I should tell him about the funny voices I heard sometimes, or the strange dreams. They are not bad dreams exactly, just strange.

I decided to just ask, "Why is my hair white? No other children have white hair."

"Because no other child is as beautiful as you are," he answered, "Only the most beautiful little girls have white hair. It is the color of pure stars."

"Mama is beautiful and she does not have white hair," I said.

He nodded, "Yes, your Mama is beautiful. Perhaps someday she will be so beautiful that her hair will be completely white like yours. Some beautiful people have to wait for white hair, you see. You got lucky and received it all at once."

Mama came and found us then. She hugged me and then she gave Uncle Zev a hug. It made him smile big. We went inside for dinner. Mama had brought some chocolate with her as a treat for dessert.

I did not get a chance to tell Uncle Zev about the beautiful woman I had seen in my dream. She had white hair too and wore a strange hat. She did not say anything, but she winked at me like Uncle Zev sometimes does when he has a good secret he cannot tell but he knows I will find out later.

* * *

_**Author's Note:**_

_***"Miastraya" is actually supposed to be "Mi estrella" in Antivan, but it is written how Iris interprets and hears it. It means "my star."**_

_**Well, I promised EmbersofAmber chocolate and a rainbow at the end. "Iris" means "rainbow" in Greek, so I have delivered on what was requested.**_

_**Thank you to all who have been following. It has been a pleasure. I have learned a great deal from all of this. I may continue this story in a sequel at a later point, but this is the end of the first part.**_


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